Noteworthy Boredom
by gr8rockstarrox
Summary: She passes him a note because she's bored during Binns' class. It's funny how the butterfly effect works, because a piece of parchment with some ink on it — a mere relief from boredom — will now change the outcome of the future war. The tiniest of actions can have the biggest of impacts. [Eventual fem!Harry/Draco; starts Fifth Year; AUish; Will be a LONG story.]
1. Chapter 1: Passing Notes

**Summary:** She passes him a note because she's bored during Binns' class. It's funny how the butterfly effect works, because a piece of parchment with some ink on it - a mere relief for boredom - will now change the outcome of the future war. The tiniest of actions can have the biggest of impacts.

[Eventual fem!Harry/Draco; starts Fifth Year; AUish; Will be a LONG story.]

 **Warnings:** Fem!Harry. Gender-bending is _not_ everybody's cup of tea. Consider yourself warned. Also, initially, some OOCness.

 **Ratings:** T, for now.

 **Disclaimer:** JKR owns HP  & co. This disclaimer is applicable to all future chapters.

 **Note:** I started writing this story a loooong time back, so the writing might be a little choppy and rough around the edges. It will be much better from the tenth chapter on, seeing as I wrote those chapters pretty recently. It's a guarantee.

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 _Butterfly Effect: In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state._

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1**

 **PASSING NOTES**

* * *

Harriet Potter was bored out of her mind. Hermione was busy taking down notes, and Ron was fast asleep, drooling slightly onto the wooden desk. Parvati and Lavender were sitting two benches away, silently giggling at a PlayWitch magazine hidden under their table, while Neville was staring longingly at Parvati.

And Harry was still ignoring Dean and Seamus, because all they wanted to do was stare at her chest. Bloody gits.

That left her with no one to bother. Harriet hated being bored. She was highly boisterous by nature.

And then she spied a pretentious blond head on her right side, sitting diagonally in front of her. That idiot had been threatening to give her detention ever since he had shown off his new Prefect badge to her on the train.

She decided to write him a note.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 _Tap. Tap._

Draco Malfoy raised his head irritably, annoyed at being woken up during History of Magic. He looked down to see a paper-crane, tapping its beak against his elbow to catch his attention.

 _Tap. Tap._

He guessed that he was supposed to open it. After all, what more could he do with a paper-crane? Wasn't there a Muggle art called origami?

To his surprise, he found a note inside, addressed to him.

.

' _Malfoy._

 _I remember you boasting last year about your 'French' ancestry. Your name should be spelt Mal-foie, though. Because you really do look like spoilt (mal) foie (foie gras)._

 _Suck on that.'_

.

Draco knew that there was only one person in the entire school who always sought to him antagonise him this way. It was the Golden Girl, Harriet Potter.

He turned around to regard her with contempt, but he was distracted by the fact that she seemed to be attempting to copy his trademark sneer. He shook his head at her childish antics and turned back to face the ghost that was droning on about goblin revolts.

Something hit his leg, and he looked down to see a crumpled up ball of paper. Obviously, Potter had given up on origami this time. He picked it up, and opened it out.

 _._

 _'Say something._

 _Your silence scares me._

 _Are you breaking up with me?'_

.

Malfoy rolled his eyes upon seeing this. He found it adorable, her attempts to annoy him. His eyes widened in horror, as he realised that he'd just mentally acknowledged his greatest rival as adorable.

He decided to get back at her.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harriet was waiting impatiently for Malfoy to get annoyed. But he wasn't getting annoyed. And Harry was growing frustrated.

A tiny dragonfly, made of paper, landed in front of her face. It then opened out into a piece of uncreased parchment.

.

' _The only reason why I'd ever break up with you would be so that we could have mind-blowing make-up sex._

 _\- Your amazing lover'_

.

Looking at the response, she felt a twinge of annoyance, but that was replaced by amusement. She wasn't embarrassed. Unlike other witches her age, Harriet did not blush like a virgin at the very mention of a penis. Though she was a virgin, she thought wryly to herself.

Harry grinned when she caught his eye, and feeling bold, she winked at him. He smirked back at her, just as the bell rang.

After managing to wake Ron up, the three of them were making their way to the staircase to go to the dungeons for Double Potions with the Slytherins (once again), when Harriet felt herself get pulled up into a niche. She could not turn around and see the person, but she recognised his voice.

"By the way, Potter, it's pronounced as 'fwa gra' not 'foy gra'. If you want to sleep with me, you should know that I like my lovers fluent in French."

With that, he disappeared just as suddenly as he had appeared. Harry shook her head and hurried up to catch up with Ron and Hermione, rolling her eyes.

Malfoy was a bloody git.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

The next day, at breakfast, Harriet was feeling glum, despite Ron's goofy attempts to make her smile. Lavender had just accused her of being a lying, attention-seeking prat in the dormitory, and finally, it was sinking in that most of the others felt that way too.

And even though Hermione had stood up for her and threatened that cow with a detention, Harry couldn't help but feel angry. She was speaking the truth. Were the other wizards and witches so caught up in their denial that they didn't want to start preparing for the inevitable war?

And to top it all, she had detention with that Umbridge female for the rest of the week. She needed something to cheer her up.

She wondered if Sirius would write to her today. But seeing as they'd been apart for just a little less than forty-eight hours, she doubted that he would write to her.

Just as she was thinking this, a tawny owl with a beautiful crest landed in front of her. The owl gave her a haughty look of contempt as it held out its gold covered talon. _Gold covered talon?_ Obviously, the owl belonged to someone who was wealthy enough to waste gold on making footwear for their owl.

The owl promptly flew away, not even waiting for some treat.

She unrolled the parchment, to find a familiar, elegant scrawl.

.

' _Dear Bad-French-Speaker,_

 _Why so glum? Heard what happened in DADA yesterday. I believe you._

 _Your amazing lover,_

 _Bad foie gras'_

.

She felt herself smiling, as she turned around to look at the Slytherin table. She caught Malfoy's eyes and smiled at him, while he just smirked in her direction. It was certainly uncharacteristic of him to do that.

"Harry! Are you even listening?" questioned Hermione, looking peeved.

"What's that in your hand, mate?" asked Ron, as he snatched the parchment away from her. Hermione and Ron leaned in to read the note, just as Harriet tried to grab it away from them.

"You looked at the Slytherin table and smiled," he accused, pointing a finger at her. "MERLIN! YOU HAVE A SLYTHERIN BOYFRIEND?" yelled Ron so loudly, that all conversation in the Great Hall came to a stop.

Even the professors had stopped talking. Snape's eyes were bulging out, while toad-faced Umbridge had a satisfied smile on her face. That bitch had already given her detention.

"Shush, Ron. Stop being such a clown!" admonished Hermione, a strange look on her face.

Harry grabbed the parchment from him and stood up, feeling annoyed. She masked her features into a look of indifference and said coldly, "Can't you read, Weasley? I have a Slytherin lover, not a boyfriend."

At this, the whole Hall gasped, and people started whispering furiously, as Ron's ears turned red, a sure sign of his anger. Hermione was gripping Ron's arm, in an attempt to restrain him.

With her head held high, she walked out of the Great Hall, to whispers of 'slut' and 'whore'. She didn't really care. She wasn't new to being ostracised.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Hermione sat next to Harriet during Double Charms, while Ron sat with those gits Seamus and Dean. They were revising Summoning Charms, and Harriet was once again bored out of her mind.

In her anger, Harry managed to summon all the items with such force, that the flying objects nearly took away the head of all those in its way. She ensured that it was Ron's head which was in the way most of the time.

However, Professor Flitwick's large homework was nothing compared to Professor McGonagall's class. Vanishing Spells were super hard, and Hermione was the only one who managed to vanish her snail, after trying thrice.

Harry took great consolation in the fact that Ron's snail too hadn't disappeared, though she was still not talking to Ron.

When Seamus asked Harry if she was available for a quick shag at a reasonable price outside the Transfiguration classroom, Ron lost it. He started pummelling the Irish boy to the floor. Hermione made half-hearted attempts to hold him back, while Dean stood back and watched with concern etched on his face.

It was just their luck that Malfoy had to walk by with his two cronies. And despite him being nice (occasionally) for the past two days, she didn't trust him. After all, they had hated each other for the past four years.

"Tut-tut. Fighting in the corridor. I must give you Gryffindorks detention for being so unruly right in the morning," said Malfoy, sneering. Crabbe and Goyle both nodded their gorilla-like heads in unison, irritating Harry even more.

"You can't give detention to a Prefect, Malfoy," Harriet found herself answering, feeling an urge to goad the blond boy.

"Didn't I already tell you to have some manners back on the train? Do you really want a detention, Scarface?"

"Oh sod off, Malfoy."

"I'm giving you detention, Potter. Meet me at the Great Hall at nine tonight."

"I refuse."

"Make that two detentions."

Ron had stopped hitting Seamus, and Ron and Hermione came and stood on either side of Harry.

"In which case, I'm giving double detention to Crabbe," said Hermione, her bushy hair looking bushier than ever. Ron continued, "And I'm giving double detention to Goyle."

"What for?" asked Malfoy, sneering.

"For simply existing," came Harriet's response, her face twisting into an uncharacteristic smirk. Malfoy sneer turned into a smirk, and they both kept smirking at each other, till Seamus' voice interrupted them.

"Is Malfoy the Slytherin lover?"

Seamus yelped in pain, as both Malfoy and Harry hexed him. The combined effect of the Jelly-Legs-Jinx and the _Furnuculus_ Jinx made for such a sight, that Malfoy's lackeys and Harry's best friends all started laughing.

As Harry laughed at the same ridiculous thing in front of her, she caught Malfoy's eye. Here was something that could make people of two opposing houses laugh. When Malfoy smiled at her, she couldn't help but return the smile.

Because all said and done, despite being a right git, Malfoy had a nice smile.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harry and Ron were on talking terms once again. Both of them skipped lunch and went to the library instead. They were both panicking about their homework. Hermione had gone off to meet the Head Girl and ask her about the detention policy.

Once Ron found out that Harry had never even kissed a boy before, he started talking to her freely. He was positively thrilled to find out that Malfoy and Harry were not in a relationship.

But if Harriet were to be true to herself, she had to admit that Malfoy had been sort-of nice to her ever since the school term had started a couple of days back. But she'd never tell that to Ron. He would just get mad once again.

Harriet's head was pounding by the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, with a long table laden with twigs in front of her.

Just as Harry and Ron reached her, they saw Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. They were all laughing, and judging by the way they all kept glancing at her, she knew she was the butt of their joke.

When Malfoy imitated Hermione behind her back, Harriet felt her headache become worse, as she tried to control her anger. Her fingers twitched towards her wand, but surprisingly, Ron held back her hand and shot her a warning glance.

Malfoy caught her glaring at him, and smirked at her. But when he realised she was really pissed off, he shook his head, and went back to listening to the Professor.

Soon, Professor Grubbly-Plank instructed all of them to pair up to study a Bowtruckle (so that was what these twig-like creatures were called) and sketch them and label them. As the class surged forwards around the table, Harry deliberately circled around the table, so that she ended up right next to the Professor.

"Where's Hagrid?" she asked the older woman, while everyone else was choosing Bowtruckles.

"Never you mind," said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively. Smirking all over his stupid, pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest Bowtruckle.

"Maybe," said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only she could hear him, "the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured."

"Maybe you'll be injured badly, if you continue talking, Malfoy," said Harry, out of the side of her mouth.

"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too _big_ for him, if you get my drift."

He walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry. She felt her headache magnify, as her worry and concern for Hagrid increased ten-fold. What if Malfoy knew something that the Order didn't? After all, his father was a Death Eater.

Harry saw that Ron and Hermione were squatting some distance away, attempting to persuade a Bowtruckle to remain still long enough for them to draw it. She could imagine Hermione's calm voice in her head, 'It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried. It tells him that we don't know what's going on. Ignore him, Harry.'

Impulsively, Harry turned around and called out, "Oi Malfoy!"

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco paused long enough for his 'rival' to catch up with him. The girl was beyond infuriating, what with her concerned questions about that stupid giant of a Groundskeeper. She obviously could be friends with a Half-breed, but had had no problem chucking his offer of friendship in his face.

"What, Potthead?"

"You're my partner for this class, Ferretface."

"What do you mean?"

"There are no more Bowtruckles left, you ponce. So we're partners."

"I refuse to mingle with you, Potthead."

"Then give me the Bowtruckle and disappear."

"I'm the Prefect. You have to listen to me."

"I'm a better human being. You have to listen to me."

By now, both of them were standing a little away from the others. Potter crossed her arms in front of her, as the Bowtruckle squirmed in his grip. Her nose flared slightly in annoyance, and it amused Malfoy, despite the headache he was suffering from.

"Drakie!" came an irritatingly familiar voice from behind him. "I don't have a partner. Will you be mine?"

In desperation, he grabbed Potter's arm and dragged her away to a more shaded place. "You're lucky I'm letting you be my partner, Potthead."

"Oh shut up, Ferret. I know you pulled me away only because you wanted to avoid Parkinson. Now hold the Bowtruckle still, I'll draw the damn thing." Saying so, she plopped down ungracefully onto the grass, and looked up at him authoritatively.

Draco found himself staring at her, before he sat down carefully, still confused by his own eyes, which seemed to like staring at his nemesis.

"Drakie-poo! What are you doing with _her_?" came Pansy's familiar shriek, as Potter unsuccessfully tried to hide her sniggers. Pansy was like the annoying weed that kept popping up in your garden of Mandrakes. Only that her shriek was worse than that of a Mandrake's.

"Why, Pansy dear. I'm pairing up with Potter. She was feeling sad that the Blood Traitor and the Mudblood both dumped her for each other."

Potter's nose flared once again in anger, and her right hand twitched towards her wand, and all of a sudden, Draco's headache didn't feel that bad. Obviously goading Potter was a stress-reliever.

"How dare you try to steal my Draco, Potthead!" screeched Pansy, her attention completely on Potter.

"I don't remember giving you permission to call me that, Pugface. Only _my_ Draco can call me that."

Now it was his turn to cover his sniggers, for Pansy looked furious at this. She took out her wand in her anger, just as Potter lazily flicked her wand.

"Miss Parkinson! If you do not have a pair, please do pair up with Mr Longbottom. Stop bothering other students who are working sincerely," called out the Professor.

As Pansy stalked away, he looked up and down at Potter, appreciating the curve of her hips that he detected through the robes. "What spell was that, Potter?" He didn't feel like asking her about the ' _my Draco'_ comment. Yet.

"Wait till tomorrow, Drakie-poo," she replied, batting her eyelashes in an outrageous manner. Draco couldn't help the laugh that escaped him.

"I should give you detention for calling me that," he replied jovially, as Potter took out an Erasable Quill and a piece of crumpled parchment. He grimaced at her terrible stationery and thrust the Bowtruckle into her hands. He opened his bag and took out a piece of uncreased parchment for her to use.

"You should cancel my detentions, because I saved you from Pansy dearest." As an afterthought, she added, "You owe me one."

Draco ignored her, and took out the tiny vial of potion he had stashed in his bag. He drunk its contents, as Potter watched him, a slightly curious expression on her face.

"What's that?"

"Headache reliever."

"Can I buy a vial from you?"

"What do you take me for, a common vendor?"

"Give me one and I'll help you avoid Parkinson in the future."

"How many times will you help me?"

"Thrice."

"Fine."

He took out another vial from his bag, and kept it on the ground. She handed over the restless Bowtruckle to him, and uncorked the vial. She sniffed it suspiciously before looking at him with those too green eyes.

"I'm taking a leap of faith here. And you still owe me one. And if this turns out to be harmful, I'll have the Twins change your hair colour," she rambled off in a hurry, obviously feeling nervous. He found it hard to believe that this slip of a girl had gone up against the Dark Lord only a few months back.

"Just shut up and drink it, Potter."

She stuck her tongue out at him, before gulping down the potion. For a moment, she sat still, before grinning at him broadly.

"My headache's gone!"

"What else would you expect of a headache reliever, Potthead?" he asked, smirking.

"If you didn't have a Bowtruckle in your arms right now, I'd hug you, Foie Gras" she remarked sarcastically.

"Start drawing, Potter," replied Draco, rolling his eyes. It was a surprise this girl ever managed to get any work done.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Twenty minutes later, when Harry was done with the drawing, Malfoy handed the Bowtruckle back to her and took out another piece of parchment. Then, with a quickly whispered _Copius_ charm, he copied Harry's drawing onto his parchment.

"Hey! That's cheating, Malfoy."

"There's no rule against what I'm doing."

"I can't expect anything better of Slytherins, I suppose," muttered Harriet, feeling like a fraud on the inside. After all, the Hat had wanted to place her in Slytherin...

"Malfoy?" she asked, having worked up the nerve to finally talk about the impending detentions.

"Yes, Potter?"

"I can't do detention with you tonight."

"Why ever not?"

"I have detention with Umbridge for the rest of the week, starting today," replied Harry glumly.

"Then do your detention with me on Saturday, Potthead."

Harriet stared at him, her mouth slightly open. "No freaking way. Cancel the detention."

"What do I get in return?" he asked, in a mocking tone.

"I'll teach you the jinx I used on Parkinson."

But before he could respond, Harriet yelled out in pain. The idiotic Bowtruckle had bitten her finger. As the blood started pouring out, the Bowtruckle made a dash for freedom towards the Forbidden Forest, only to be calmly plucked from the ground by Malfoy.

"No deal, Potter," replied Malfoy, smirking at her, before getting up gracefully, despite holding a wriggling Bowtruckle.

As he walked away towards the Professor, chuckling at her obvious misfortune, Harriet Potter could only think of two words.

 _Bloody git._

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **AN:**

I'm not a fan of long ANs, so I'll keep it short. :*

Things have mostly been canonical so far. The minor events from the fifth book will occur as they do, though I won't rehash things too much. And any dialogue you recognise is from the book, obviously. ^_^

I personally don't think the quality of this chapter is reflective of my potential as a writer. o_O As I said earlier, I started working on this a very long time back. I've improved a lot since then, if I do say so myself.

Also, this story is going to be long - a sort of challenge to myself to see if I'm really the commitment-phobe I say I am. :) It'll cover Fifth and Sixth Years, and the war, all in great detail.

Reviews are love! :*


	2. Chapter 2: Detention Saviour

**So far:**

Harriet Potter is a reckless and boisterous witch who has just started her Fifth Year at Hogwarts. She has also, out of sheer boredom, started writing notes to her Slytherin 'rival'. She's puzzled by the fact that said 'rival' is being civil to her, considering their rather rocky past. But is it possible that our favourite Slytherin has a secret agenda?

 **Warnings:** Unbeta-ed, as usual. :)

 **Genre:** Friendship; Romance; Humour

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

 **DETENTION SAVIOUR**

* * *

As usual, Draco's mind had been filled with thoughts of his archenemy, Harriet Potter. However, much to his disgust, his thoughts had taken a terrifying turn. He found himself wondering about how she was holding up with all the pressure.

He had always thought her to be an attention seeker, right from First year. However, on closer inspection, it seemed like she really did not like the attention. And Draco hated the fact that his perception of that stupid Halfblood was changing.

He also did not like the fact that she seemed to be looking more feminine these days. He did not like the way he found himself staring at her newly formed curves. She was a Gryffindor, and a Halfblood. Her bestfriend was a Mudblood. And she openly consorted with those idiotic Weasleys. Obviously, she had no taste in choosing her company.

Why did she have to be so bloody good at Quidditch? Couldn't she not show off, for once? Why did she have to be such an annoying person? Always the 'saviour', always the well liked one. The Daily Prophet always had an article on her, these days. Even if it was all in negative light, she was the centre of attention, and he did not like it one bit.

On Wednesday, during Care of Magical Creatures, Potter had seemed tired and worn out. She had stuck to her stupid Gryffindork _friends_ and hadn't even risen to the bait he had thrown, when he insulted that half-breed buffoon friend of hers.

On Thursday, during Double Potions, when he had made fun of her about the way she walked, or rather, pranced like a pony, it was the Weasel who had gotten angry. Potter had simply looked at him with a ' _not today'_ look written on her face.

Draco hated not being paid the attention that was due to him. He did not like the way Potthead looked miserable. He only wanted her to be miserable if he were the one to make her miserable. He wanted her to get mad and fight back with him.

And today, during History of Magic, he had found her doing her Potions homework, while that ghost droned on about the Goblin Revolt of 1587. She had looked terrible, like she had not been eating enough.

Not knowing what came over him, he had hastily scribbled the name of the text required to finish the Potions essay onto a piece of parchment, and thrown it at her head. She had opened the note, read it carefully, then looked up at him, and had mouthed 'thank you', with a weak smile on her face.

Blaise had found the whole thing amusing, because according to Blaise, Draco's obsession with Potter probably signified a deeper emotional attachment. But Draco knew that the Italian boy was wrong. He hated that stupid girl so much, that she was all he thought about.

And somehow, she had managed to monopolise his thoughts, even _now_ when he was on Prefect duty. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, that he hadn't realised that it was past eleven. He heard some heavy breathing around the corridor, and went to investigate.

He hoped it was a First year Hufflepuff, out of bed after curfew, so that he could scare it away by reducing house points.

Which was why he was surprised to see his archenemy curled up on the ground, breathing like a wounded horse.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harriet's heart was thumping very hard and fast. Her scar was pounding with pain.

She had rushed out of Umbitch's office, her forehead and her hand, both hurting. She had sprinted up the stairs, but had ended up taking a wrong turn in her blind haste. And then she had started feeling dizzy, which had led to her lying down on the floor, so as to not lose consciousness and fall flat on her face.

 _Stay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what it means,_ she repeated to herself, curling up further into a ball, as she heard footsteps approach her.

"Potter?"

She moved her head off the floor, to see Malfoy looming over her, an almost concerned expression on his face.

He knelt down beside her, his eyes wide with some nameless emotion.

"What happened?"

Gripping his right arm with her left hand, she pulled herself up, and rested herself on the wall, as he looked at her left hand with mild disgust.

"I'm only letting you dirty my robes because you look like a dying hag," he said, trying to sneer, and failing to produce a satisfactory sneer.

In response, she simply tightened her grip on his arm, and looked at him blankly.

"For fuck's sake, Potter. Talk to me when I talk to you. What are you doing out here, so late?"

"I-I-..."

Harry's voice broke as she tried to speak.

Malfoy rudely grabbed her chin and before she could react, took out his wand and muttered some spell. Water started pouring out of his wand, and fell into Harriet's open mouth.

Now that her strength was returning to her, she glared at him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Did your mother not teach you to say thank you? Oh, right. You don't have a mother."

Harriet scowled at the blond ponce in front of her. He was so infuriating. Her headache was disappearing, but her hand was now throbbing with pain.

"Thank you, Ferretface."

"Are you asking for more detention?"

"Hell, no. Leave me alone," groaned Harry, wincing when her right hand rubbed against his left sleeve. She tightened her grip on his right arm.

"Fuck, Potter. Stop holding me so tightly. Wait, is that blood?"

Harry tried to hide her right hand, but he was too fast. He grabbed it and turned her hand to inspect it. She winced loudly, as his features took on a grim stance.

"Black Quill?"

"How did you know?"

"Umbridge's detention?"

"Were you spying on me?" she spat out, feeling irritated.

"You really must learn to be quiet and not draw the attention of certain people, Potter," he told her, with a resigned look on his face.

When she didn't reply, he pointed his wand at her hand, his nose scrunched up in concentration. Through the haze of pain, Harriet realised that for some _stupid_ reason, she was trusting him.

"This won't stop the bleeding, but it'll numb the pain... _Loksomnum_ ," he muttered, a blond lock falling across his face as he did the required wand movement.

As the pain cleared away, Harry felt unbelievably cheerful. "Your eyes are a silvery grey," she whispered, realising too late that she hadn't really thought through what she was saying.

She looked away, feeling moronic, but not before she caught the smirk on the Slytherin's face. "A common side-effect of the spell, people speak without thinking."

"I guess I should say thanks."

"Don't. We're now even, for you helping me avoid Pansy in Care of Magical Creatures. I usually demand a greater debt for things like these. Don't expect me to come around saving you always."

"What about the one where I have to save you from Pansy thrice?"

"Are you always this stupid? You still owe me that."

"Did you see those hideous pimples on her face? That was me," boasted Harry, feeling pleased with herself.

"That still doesn't mean you owe me any lesser."

"What about detention tomorrow?"

He gave her a long look before standing up. He then surprised her by hauling her to her feet. He bent down, picked up her bag and gave it to her.

"I'll send you a note."

As he started walking away, Harriet asked him before she could stop herself, "Are you not going to walk me to my dorm?"

Without turning back, he replied, "Goodnight, Potter."

She now felt completely annoyed with herself, for asking him that question in the first place. Why was he being so nice to her?

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harry was the first to wake up in her dormitory the next morning. She lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in her four-poster's hangings, and savoured the thought that it was Saturday.

But it wasn't in her boisterous nature to remain in bed doing nothing. She sprung out of bed, realising by the sleepy silence around her, that she was the first one up. It looked like it was just after daybreak. She pulled out a roll of parchment, a quill and an ink bottle from her bag carefully, and made her way to the common room.

She had been so tired last night, that she had not changed her clothes before falling asleep. Ron had been preoccupied with having been made Keeper, and Hermione had been busy fighting with Fred. Harriet wondered if Hermione fancied Fred. That would explain her behaviour towards the Twins.

Sitting in her favourite squashy old armchair, she unrolled her parchment and glared at it intently, not knowing what to write. She did not want to tell Sirius about the Black Quill incident. She didn't want him storming into Hogwarts foolishly, out of anger, only to be hauled back to Azkaban. Sirius had a tendency to be impulsive.

She managed to write a brief letter to _Padfoot_ , trying to hide her questions in plain sight. After re-reading it to ensure that it was completely encrypted, she hurried off to the Owlery. She encountered Mrs Norris on the way, and Harriet had to squash the urge to kick the sodding cat.

Once she had sent Hedwig off, she moved to the large stone arch of the window, and savoured the fresh air on her face. And then she saw it, a great, reptilian winged horse flying over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

Was Lovegood right? Were these creatures not merely a figment of her imagination? Her heart was now hammering madly.

When someone behind her cleared their throat, she jumped and turned around, alarmed. Her right hand had automatically gone for the wand stashed in her right pocket.

"Potthead. What a pleasure," drawled the Slytherin Prince, one eyebrow quirked.

"What are you doing here, Ferretface?" she asked, feeling tired.

"I came to send your note. But now that you're here, Hermes can go do more important things."

"I'm guessing Hermes is your owl?" Harriet asked, half smiling. Hermes, the owl, carried messages and had golden footwear, much like the Greek God Hermes. It seemed to be the kind of pretentiously adorable thing that Malfoy would do.

Hold on. Had she just called Malfoy adorable? Harriet suppressed the slight shudder that she felt.

Meanwhile, Malfoy had walked close to her, and had his right arm stretched out with the letter. For a second, it reminded her of the incident on the Hogwarts Express, where he had offered his friendship.

"Potter, are you still in yesterday's clothes?"

"So what if I am?" asked Harry, feeling oddly defensive.

However, when she tried to take the letter from him, he caught her hand and gazed at it intently.

"How is the pain?"

"Bearable, thanks."

He took a step closer, and lifted her hand up to his face, as if examining it closely.

"It's going to scar," he announced softly, as he looked up to meet her eyes. He had such pretty eyes. Harriet's eyes widened in horror, when she realised what she had just thought.

However, before she could say anything, Cho Chang entered the Owlery, holding a letter and a parcel in her hands.

"Oh... hi," she said breathlessly. "I didn't think anyone would be here this early. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

Just as Harriet tried to spring away from Malfoy, he put his arm around her waist and held her tightly to him.

"Don't worry. We're leaving."

As he dragged her to the entrance, Harry turned around to greet the Ravenclaw. "Have a great day, Cho!"

"You too," said the Asian girl, uncertainly.

Once they had descended the stairs, she slapped his hand away from her waist. She turned around to face him, and glared at him.

"What the fuck, Malfoy?"

"Think of it as me setting the stage for you to save me from Pansy."

As Malfoy stood there and simply looked at her, unbothered, Harry found herself getting angry. She fought the urge to smack him. After all, she owed it to him to at least be nice to him for a week, for helping her out last night.

Just as she was about to move away from their staring contest, she heard some heavy footfalls. Filch the caretaker came wheezing around the corner. It was obvious that he had just run here. Mrs Norris came trotting at his heels.

"Aha!" said Filch, taking a flat-footed step towards Harry. "I've had a tip-off that you are intending to place a massive order for Dungbombs!"

Harry folded her arms, and stared at the caretaker. "Who told you I was ordering Dungbombs?"

Malfoy was looking from her to Filch, a faint frown marring his alabaster forehead.

"I have my sources," hissed Filch. "Now hand over whatever it is you plan to send."

"I already sent it. It's gone."

" _Gone?"_ said Filch, his face contorting with rage.

"Gone," said Harry calmly.

Filch opened his mouth furiously, mouthed for a few seconds, then raked Harry's robes with his eyes. Harry felt dirty, not liking the way his eyes moved over her body.

Just as Malfoy partially moved in front of her, Filch asked, "How do I know you haven't got it in your pocket?"

But before Harry could open her mouth, Malfoy said coldly, "Because I saw her send it."

Filch rounded on him. "You saw her- ?"

"That's right, I saw her. And as you can see, we are on our way back inside," he said fiercely, his eyes narrowed.

There was a moment's pause, where Filch glared at Malfoy, and Malfoy glared back at him. The caretaker then turned on his heel and shuffled back towards the main building. He stopped and looked back at Harry.

"If I get so much as a whiff of a Dungbomb..."

He walked away, with Mrs Norris following him, her tail up in the air.

Malfoy and Harry looked at each other.

"We're now even for that stunt you pulled back in the Owlery," Harry said, secretly grateful to the blond Slytherin.

"You're welcome, Potter."

He then looked up and down at her, much like Filch. However, this time, she didn't feel dirty. She, in fact, felt a little warm on the inside. A little too warm.

"You weren't ordering Dungbombs, were you?"

"None of your business, Malfoy," she replied, trying to copy his trademark sneer.

"See you at eleven," he said smirking at her, before walking inside.

Harry shivered at the sudden absence of his warmth. She took out his 'note' and unrolled it.

.

' _Ms Potter,_

 _Please come to the Quidditch pitch at 11 am sharp for your detention. Your detention has been officially noted down by my Head of House._

 _Regards,_

 _Draco Malfoy_

 _Slytherin Fifth Year Prefect_

 _P.S. Kindly bring the new Quidditch Polishing Kit that I heard you boasting about to your Weasley friend. I believe the polish is odourless.'_

.

Harry scowled in annoyance at the note. The Gryffindors had Quidditch practice at half past twelve. She didn't want to miss it, seeing as Angelina was already hopping mad at her. And moreover, she did not want to waste her new kit on the stupid Slytherin's broom.

But then he was being nice to her. Not that it was unconditional, but he was still being nice. And that left her feeling confused.

She hated feeling confused. She was supposed to hate him. He repeatedly called Hermione a Mudblood, continually made fun of Ron's lack of wealth and constantly insulted her. But he had defended her to Filch, helped her out last night and had not made fun of her for passing notes to him in History of Magic.

Feeling all the more confused, she made her way to the Great Hall, for breakfast.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco was getting impatient. He had been waiting at the Quidditch pitch, near the changing rooms, for the past fifteen minutes. Potter had not turned up.

Why did Potter have to take up all his time, everyday? Even when she was not physically there, she was all he thought about. He studied to be better than her. He played Quidditch as a Seeker just because she did. (He had always wanted to be a Chaser.) He spent time making up creative insults just to bother her.

And just this morning, he had been forced to talk to Filch for her. For some unfathomable reason, he had felt pure, unadulterated rage, when he had seen the lecherous way in which the caretaker had eyed Potter. It was things like these which made him question whether this girl had ever really faced the Dark Lord.

Draco was shaken out of his thoughts by a throat being cleared in front of him.

"I'm sorry I'm late. There was something that came up," said Potter, shuffling her feet and looking at the ground.

Draco could very well guess what it was that had 'come up'. During breakfast, he had seen how the _Golden Trio_ had fought over the Daily Prophet , with Potter and the Mudblood tearing the paper down the middle in their haste to read it. He had lip-read the Mudblood saying 'Sirius' and had lip-read Potthead saying 'Lucius Malfoy'.

Well, he had to give credit where it was due. It had been his father who had informed the Ministry that Black was hiding in London. He hadn't expected Potthead to figure that out, though. But how typical of Potter, to be mixed with Mudbloods and Blood traitors and half breeds and werewolves and house elves.

She probably took her job as 'saviour' too seriously.

"Umm... Malfoy?"

He led her inside the Slytherin changing rooms, before speaking. " You have to polish all these brooms such that they're shining as brightly as Merlin's bald spot. You may start now."

He sat down on one of the benches, as Potter set up her polishing kit.

"Don't you have house elves to do this kind of manual labour?"

"Unfortunately for me, you freed my house elf, remember?"

"Dobby deserves his freedom."

"What?"

"Dobby. That's the name of your old house elf, you ungrateful prat."

"Call me anymore names, and I'll ensure this detention extends into your Quidditch practice time. Don't look so surprised, Scarface. Everyone knows that the Weasel's been made Keeper and that Johnson booked the pitch for the entire second half of the day."

The girl silently sighed, and went back to polishing the broom.

Some forty minutes later, and four polished brooms later, Draco was appreciating how well the Muggle trousers accentuated the feminine curve of Potter's body, when she dropped the sponge, cursing loudly.

"What, Potter?"

"It bloody burns where the polish fell on it," she cried out, holding her right hand in front of his face. He could make out the angry red writing on her hand. _I must not tell lies._

He couldn't help but feel disgusted at what that old toad had done. Umbridge was one of the people who constantly sucked up to his father. So while he was obviously treated like royalty by her, he did not like the way she had made Potter use a Black Quill.

"I'll polish my own broom, give that to me," he said, taking the sponge out of her hand.

"That's what she said," muttered the Gryffindor. When he looked at her questioningly, she said, "Muggle joke." She then stood up, and walked towards the shower stalls.

Draco shook his head dismissively, before beginning to polish his Nimbus 2001. His father had promised him a Firebolt, if he managed to get more than eight O's in the OWLs. He desperately needed a Firebolt, if he had to win against the other Houses, if he had to win against _her_.

When she sat down, her hand was wet. She sat right next to him and watched him polish his broom. He found her presence very distracting.

"Stop staring at me, Potthead. Drooling at my good looks isn't very womanly of you."

"Malfoy?" she asked uncertainly.

"What?"

"Do you know anything about Sirius Black?"

"He is my mother's cousin."

"I know that. I'm asking about his current whereabouts."

He paused his polishing to look at her. She was fidgeting in her seat. And when she ran her left hand through her hair nervously, he caught a faint whiff of vanilla.

"According to the Daily Prophet, he's in London."

"According to the Daily Prophet, I'm an attention-whore."

"Aren't you, though?"

She moved so fast that he never saw her hand approaching his face. It was only when he jerked back in pain as she yowled in pain, that he realised that she had slapped him. With the back of her hand. Like the idiot she was.

"Did you just slap me?" he asked her, indignantly.

"Who cares? My hand hurts!" she cried, outraged.

"You can polish the other two brooms all on your own. I thought I'd help you. But you don't deserve it."

"I thought you believed me?" she asked him, her face a cold mask.

"I still do. I also believe that you draw attention to yourself unnecessarily."

"What?"

"You need not have fought with Umbridge in your first class."

"SHE WAS CALLING ME A LIAR!" shouted Potter, standing up now.

Draco stood up, pulling himself to his full height. He needn't have, though; he was already towering over the girl.

"Consider this a friendly warning, Potter. It would be smart for you to not draw any more attention to yourself for the next few months," he said, trying to keep his voice level.

She glared at him defiantly, her eyes flashing. Her eyes were too green. There had been a time when the Pureblood society's females had gushed over the greenness of the Potter Heiress' eyes. For the first time ever, he could understand why they were special.

Because it was easy to lose yourself in them.

Her shoulders slumped forward, as she sighed dejectedly, "Okay."

She sat back down heavily, picked up the sponge from where he had dropped it on the bench, and started polishing one of the last two brooms. He sat back down, and watched her. Though she was physically present, he could easily make out that she was mentally absent.

He had no idea why he had even told her what he had. True, the Minister was planning to give a few more powers to Umbridge, but he did not understand why he had felt the need to warn Potter. After all, she had stood up to the Dark Lord, hadn't she? She didn't need him to protect her.

But a snide voice in his head asked, _'But you want her to want your protection, don't you?'_

Draco decided to ignore that voice.

At twenty minutes past twelve, when Potter finally got up to leave, he didn't feel like saying anything.

"Don't you have to give me some sort of detention slip?" she asked him, her voice neutral.

He silently handed her the slip and watched as she made her way to the entrance, after packing up her kit with a flick of her wand. That was certainly an impressive display of non-verbal magic.

Her hair was long, and reached her waist, unlike the hair of the Pureblood girls he knew, who kept it till either their shoulders or their chests. And not many of them had hair that was as black as ebony.

He decided that he liked the way her hair swished from side to side when she walked.

At the doorway, she paused and turned to look at him. In a gentle voice, she said, "Thanks."

He nodded his acknowledgement, feeling very light, for a moment. If this was how it felt when Potter really said her thanks, it explained why there were so many people willing to help her out all the time.

He sat there, smiling to himself, for another five minutes, before making his way out to the Quidditch field. After all, he had instructed Pansy, Gregory and Vincent to meet him at the field at 12:35 pm sharp.

There was no way he was missing out the Gryffindorks' Quidditch practice with their new Weasel of a Keeper, even if his feelings towards their Seeker was slowly changing.

He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys hated the Weasleys.

He was Draco, and Draco hated Potter.

At least, he was supposed to.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **End note:**

For a long time, I was under the impression that the quill Umbridge used was called a Blood Quill. It was while writing this chapter that I decided to check it up on the net, and lo behold, it's apparently a _Black_ Quill. Do you think it has anything to do with the Blacks?

* * *

 **AN:**

I was delighted by the response to this story. :) Now let's talk about update schedules. I have two options for you:

(a) I can update a chapter as and when I write a new one - which means I'll have a constant number of chapters as a safety net in my "bank".

or

(b) I can update whenever a chapter gets a certain _n_ number of reviews. So if we keep an arbitrary value of 25, a new chapter will be posted for every 25 new reviews.

With option A, the updates will be sporadic. With option B, I'd say you have the power - tell me which one you want in a review.

* * *

Thank you ptl4ever419, Mashkai30, harryislife, SilentSimple, CupCakeAwesomeness, Raven097, lumusmaxima77, Captain CV, ms. potterclearwaterdiangelo, SilveryWind, Nataly SkyPot, amata0221, Sly Seraphina, LyraStarlight, TofuNinjaCat, Mrs. TomMarvoloRiddle, bridget237, thestarsinthesky13, I. C. 2014, GreenOnBlack, Daughter of Fuyuki, Hikari. Kuro1994 and guest reviewers Fire Ruby, Guest and Guest for reading and reviewing. :)

P.S. I had to put spaces between some of your names, because FFN was acting funny.


	3. Chapter 3: Drawing Attention

**So far:**

Draco Malfoy is the quintessential Slytherin. He's ambitious, cunning and sly, unlike most of his housemates, who are there only because of the pure blood that flows through their veins. But that's not to say that he doesn't take more than a little pride in his heritage. However, self-preservation is important, and if that means being polite and civil to the Girl Who Lived, so be it.

 **Warnings:** Unbeta-ed, as usual. :)

 **Genre:** Friendship; Romance; Humour

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3**

 **DRAWING ATTENTION**

* * *

On Sunday morning, Harriet was about seventy percent sure that she hated Malfoy. As Hermione rattled on about how this 'High Inquisitor' thing would affect their standard of education, Harry couldn't help but think of Malfoy's warning in the Slytherin changing rooms yesterday.

Harry imagined a balance with a needle pointing to the heavier side. Every time he did something to help her, she decided to add a 'mental' gold coin to the left side of the balance, while every time he did something to unnecessarily aggravate her, she decided to add a 'mental' silver coin to the right of the balance.

And right now, the needle was pointing to the right side.

He had nullified the gold coins for the 'warning', simply by turning up at the Quidditch pitch yesterday with his cronies and the rest of the Slytherin team. They had proceeded to mock the practising Gryffindor team, and Malfoy had incessantly insulted both Ron and her.

And for some reason, she could remember most of his stupid insults.

 _What's that Weasley's riding? Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?_

 _Gryffindor are losers! Gryffindor are losers!_ To be honest, that tune had got stuck in her head.

And then there was that insult about her scar.

 _Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling? Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?_

Somehow, for the first time ever, Malfoy's snide remarks hurt her. She had felt a telltale pricking in her eyes, and had been unsure about what she was to do. At that exact moment, though, Angelina had passed the Quaffle to Harry, and Harry had thrown it with all her might at the blond head on the ground, her hurt turning into anger.

Unfortunately, Malfoy had seen it coming and had moved away. The Quaffle had only hit him on the shoulder, and while he was screaming exaggeratedly about his grievous injury, Parkinson had glared at her and told her to stay away from her _Drakie-poo._

Apart from Quidditch practice being a disaster, last night in the common room had been an absolute nightmare. Ron and Hermione had fought as usual, though they had made up over Astronomy homework. Percy's owl (also named Hermes) had brought his pretentious letter, which had asked Ron to stay away from Harriet. Secretly, Harriet had been _very_ touched by Ron's reaction.

But more importantly, she and Sirius had fought over the latter's recklessness. When Harriet had tried to explain to him that the Malfoys knew he was in London, Sirius had started comparing her to her father. And right now, she was not sure if they were on talking terms.

And Sunday morning breakfast had been effectively ruined, by the Prophet's headlines. Students all over the Great Hall were whispering loudly, clutching newspapers in their hands as they read the news in groups.

She caught Malfoy's eye, and when he faintly nodded at her, she turned her face away. What did he want now, a note of thanks? At that moment, though, a roll of parchment appeared beside her plate.

.

' _Dear Note-Passer,_

 _I am aware that yesterday's remarks were hurtful, but I assure you, they were not meant to be. On a more serious note, how_ is _the hand feeling? It has scarred, hasn't it? I'm surprised your female friend hasn't done something about it._

 _Unless you didn't tell her?_

 _Your amazing lover,_

 _Bad Foie Gras'_

.

Harriet crumpled the note and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. She did not want Ron to react the way he had done the last time, because this time around, she was sincerely going to try to not draw any attention to herself.

However, she noted Hermione looking at her, with her eyebrows drawn together. Harry sighed. Eventually, she would have to tell Hermione. But till then, it was her secret to keep.

When she caught Malfoy's eye once again before leaving the Great Hall, she nodded at him, and he nodded back at her, his silvery grey eyes looking strangely mirthful.

She was only sixty-five percent sure that she hated him.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

That night, Draco was sitting on his favourite stuffed sofa in the Slytherin common room, supposedly writing his Astronomy essay with Blaise. He had expected Potter to reply to his apologetic note, but there had been no reply from the girl.

However, he had thought too soon, for an owl swooped in through the only window of the Slytherin common room and landed next to him. It was an ordinary school owl, and it had a clumsily rolled piece of parchment in its talons.

.

' _Dear Drakie-poo,_

 _Was that supposed to be an apology? Well, it was a rotten one._

 _Anyway, I didn't tell my_ female friend _as I didn't want her to worry. However, my_ male friend _is aware of it... I have no idea why I just wrote that. And I'm too lazy to start a new note._

 _Thanks for the warning. I thought you hated me, but I'm guessing my amazing conversation skills in French won you over._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Possible Dungbomb Order-er._

 _P.S. How did you get a note to appear on the table this morning at breakfast?'_

.

Draco smirked at the note, glad to have gotten the note before he went to sleep. He looked up to see that the owl had already flown out. He then caught Blaise looking at him curiously.

"What, Blaise?"

"That note seems to have made you extremely happy."

"Are you high from Gillyweed?" he asked his friend, folding the note and keeping it carefully in his Astronomy textbook, at the chapter about the constellation Draco.

"Is it Potter, Draco? Did you finally tell her you like her?"

"I'm going to sleep, Zabini. Goodnight," said Draco, standing up with all his things packed.

"It's dangerous, wouldn't you say? Lucius would have a fit."

Draco walked to his room, trying not to think of his father. Instead, he tried to appreciate the amazing architecture of the Slytherin House living quarters.

He immensely appreciated the fact that each Slytherin got their own room. He immensely appreciated the fact that the Slytherin living quarters had such high ceilings. He immensely appreciated the fact that the bedrooms were actually carved out of stone, and that they were beneath the Black Lake. He immensely appreciated the fact that despite there being only one window for over seventy-odd students, the air circulation was brilliant. He immensely appreciated the greenness of the entire place.

Of course, nothing would match the greenness of Potter's eyes... Draco spat out the paste from his mouth and stared at himself in his bathroom mirror.

Was it possible that Blaise was right?

What would his father say, if he heard about it?

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

For the first time in her entire life, Harriet Jillian Potter was looking forward to a History of Magic class. Hermione was stunned to see her best friend shovel down the boiled eggs at that speed; after all, that sort of behaviour was expected out of Ron.

"Harriet? What's the hurry?"

"Hurry? What hurry?" Harriet tried to deflect the question by changing topics. "I think the eggs are cooked brilliantly today."

Ron nodded his approval. "I swear the bacon is better than ever," he said, managing to spit out pieces of bacon everywhere, in the process.

Hermione turned her attention on him, glaring as she said, "Learn to chew with your mouth closed, Ronald!"

However, when they got up from the table to go to History of Magic, Hermione pulled Harry aside, and whispered in the raven-haired girl's ear, "Don't think you've fooled me, Harry."

Harry shook off Hermione's hand, before saying coolly, "I have no clue what you're talking about."

She walked away before the brunette could catch up with her. After all, she planned to catch the last seat in History of Magic.

When Harriet reached the classroom with Ron, she realised that they were the first students to assemble there. Even Professor Binns had not entered the room. As she kept her books and her bag on the last desk, Ron sat down heavily at the same table.

"Brilliant place, Harry. Great for sleeping. Thanks." With that, he put his head on his desk and went to sleep, much to Harry's amazement.

Hermione came in a few minutes later, and scowled when she saw Harry and Ron sitting at the last bench. In an act of defiance, she went and sat in the first bench. Harry rolled her eyes at this, feeling that Hermione had a tendency to overreact a tad too much.

Feeling drowsy, Harriet too put her head down and dozed off.

She was woken up by a sharp poke to her ribs. She opened her eyes blearily, to realise that the roll call was going on. When she looked to her right, she was surprised to find Malfoy there, twirling his wand in those gorgeously long fingers of his.

Wait... WHAT?

WHAT HAD SHE JUST THOUGHT?

She tried to shake the sleep out of her head, failing to realise that her name had been called. When Malfoy poked her once again, she glared at him, before calling out, "Present, sir."

When the ghost came down to Weasley, feeling sorry for her friend, she answered his attendance as well. It was not as if Professor Binns noticed this kind of stuff. However, Hermione noticed it, and turned around in her seat to glare at her. Harry cheekily stuck out her tongue at her, and Hermione turned away, rolling her eyes.

By then, the ghost had finished the attendance call, with the name Zabini. Zabini seemed to have been waiting just for this, as he loudly hit his desk with his head. Harry caught Malfoy rolling his eyes at his partner's behaviour, before she turned her attention to the rest of the class.

Professor Binns rolled up the scroll with the names and immediately started a lecture on the importance of magical weapons in Goblin revolts, just as most of the students put their heads down and promptly went to sleep.

Neville, of course, was staring at Parvati, while Parvati was staring withdisgust at Seamus, who had his head on his table, with his mouth slightly open. Lavender and Dean were throwing appreciative looks at each other, and Harry felt sick seeing the coy looks they were exchanging.

Surprisingly, Hermione was sitting next to a Slytherin. Harry wasn't sure if the name was Davis or Travis. She was the only other creature taking notes in History of Magic. Harry sighed and looked to her right.

She was surprised to find Malfoy looking at her with an eyebrow quirked. She shrugged at him as a way of greeting.

He reached across the narrow aisle, and placed a neatly folded piece of parchment on her desk.

 _._

 _'That's the only apology you'll ever get from me._

 _I still hate you. But I don't mind teaching you French._

 _House elves. I used house elves to get that note to you.'_

.

Harriet rolled her eyes once again, before flipping the parchment over to write her response.

' _House elves? That's pretty clever of you... Never thought I'd see the day where I'd call a Slytherin 'clever'... Why does your offer to teach me French sound dubious?'_

His reply, on a new, and long piece of parchment, was prompt.

' _Here are the basics. Oui means yes. Non means no. Can your Gryffindor brain manage that?'_

Harry glared at the parchment, before scrawling hurriedly under his neat handwriting.

' _What is French for 'fuck you', Malfoy?'_

The blond git smirked, before writing his reply with his eagle feather quill.

 _'Had I known you were this eager to jump into bed, I would have started writing to you sooner.'_

When she read that, she simply handed the parchment back to him, without deigning to look at him.

But soon, the parchment was back in front of her.

 _'Let's start with simple oui-non questions. The reply to the following question is a 'yes'._

 _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?'_

Harry's eyes narrowed at that line of French. She turned to look at Malfoy, who had a nonchalant look on his face. She knew something was up.

She wrote a one-word reply.

' _NON.'_

She heard Malfoy snort when he read her reply. And somehow, Malfoy even made snorting look dignified.

 _'Damn, you're smart every now and then. Don't worry. I'll turn it into an oui someday.'_

Harry shook her head. She had a feeling she could guess what that sentence meant.

' _In your dreams, Drakie-poo.'_

Harriet looked at him as he read the parchment. He looked at her, shook his head, and wrote a reply.

 _'Stop calling me that! Je m'appelle Draco.'_

Harriet grinned at that, sensing a way to make that idiot feel uncomfortable.

 _'Does that mean I can call you Draco?'_

His eyebrow quirked at that, as he read it. And then, he smirked as he wrote a reply.

' _Only if I can call you Harriet.'_

Harriet felt her ears burning, as he continued to smirk at her.

Thankfully, she was saved from replying, as the bell rang, signifying the end of the hour.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harriet knew that Snape hated her because of her father. So Harriet felt justified in hating him back. After all, that greasy git had been targeting her since her first class. Which was why what happened in class today was not very surprising.

 _Professor_ Snape swooped in like an overgrown bat, handing out their moonstone essays. Harry's had a large spiky, black 'D' scrawled in an upper corner. Harry knew for a fact that she deserved a 'B' or a 'C', at the least. She had, after all, written a pretty decent essay.

"I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL. This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in the examination."

Going back to the front of the class, he continued, "The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a 'D'.

Snape smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, "Some people got a ' _D_ '? Ha!"

Harry hastily stuffed her homework in, which Malfoy noticed. He smirked at her, knowing well why she was stuffing hers in. She rolled her eyes at him.

So instead, she tried to keep her head down and work hard on her potion. After all, she was trying not to draw much attention to herself.

After handing over her flask of somewhat okay Strengthening Solution, as the three of them made their way out into the crowded corridor, she felt something bump into her. Something was pressed into her hand. A blond head was seen walking away fast.

At the Gryffindor table, when they were joined by Fred, George and Lee Jordan, Hermione continued her monologue about grades and how she wanted top grade. Ron was getting annoyed at her for trying to wheedle his grade out of him, and was snapping at her.

Deciding that her friends were sufficiently distracted, she opened the note under the table.

.

' _Dear HARRIET,_

 _I figured your Muggle-brain might not understand the OWL standards of grading:_

 _Pass grades:_

 _O - Outstanding (What I got)_

 _E - Exceeds Expectations_

 _A - Acceptable_

 _Fail grades:_

 _P - Poor_ _(What your_ male friend _got)_

 _D - Dreadful (What you got)_

 _T - Troll_

 _If you have used the book I suggested, your essay would deserve an "E"._

 _~ Your amazing lover'_

.

So in other words, she had been failed by the malicious Slytherin Head of House.

And Hermione was just learning about the OWL grading system from the Twins. Ha! For once she knew something before Hermione! However, Harry's inner gloating was cut short by Ron.

"Hermione. If you want to know what grades we got, ask," said Ron sharply.

"I don't - I didn't mean - well, if you want to tell me -"

"I got a 'P'. Happy?" Ron asked, ladling soup into his bowl.

But Lee Jordan interrupted before Hermione could continue, "Still better that a 'D', isn't it?"

Harry felt her face grow warm and faked a small coughing fit over her roll.

Somehow, the conversation topic moved to inspected lessons and Harry felt herself relax. And then George partially ruined her mood.

"Well, be a good girl and keep your temper with Umbridge today. Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices."

But Harry had inherited Lily Evans' fiery temper, which was why she managed to find herself with another week's detention with Umbridge.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

That Gryffindor was an idiot. Draco had no idea why he was even willingly interfering in that dumb female's affairs. Hadn't he warned her not to draw attention to herself?

He leaned against the wall, two corridors away from Umbridge's room, and waited for Potter to get out of detention. It was past eleven, already. Wasn't there a rule to end all detentions by ten in the night?

He heard hurried footsteps, and then he saw Harriet Potter hurrying down the corridor. She was obviously trying not to cry, but tears had made their way down her face.

She saw him and stopped walking. Draco strode over to her and picked up her right hand. The cuts were bleeding again, and the even in the dim corridor lighting, he could make out what they said.

 _I must not tell lies._

He took out his wand, and uttered the _Loksomnum_ spell. When he looked up, he witnessed the sweetest smile he had ever seen on Potter's face. And it was all for him.

He felt a fluttery feeling in his stomach, but he chose to ignore it. Instead, he took out his handkerchief, and wrapped it around her hand gently.

When he realised that he was still holding her hand, with a dash of Gryffindor recklessness, he lifted up the still bleeding hand to his face, and pressed his lips on the plain skin above the now blood-soaked cloth.

He heard her gasp. Smirking, he looked up at her blushing face, as she said, "I didn't feel that!"

"Which means the spell is working fine."

Obviously, the side-effects of the spell had made her tongue loose.

"And also. I wasn't crying. Can't give Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing that it hurts."

He let go of her hand, and wiped away the tears from her face using his thumbs, the way his mother had once done when he was a five-year old.

"You weren't crying, Harriet."

The name felt foreign, coming out of his mouth, but somehow, he liked it. Of course, the best name for her was Potthead. But Harriet came a close second.

Feeling uncharacteristically chivalrous, he took her books-bag from her, and started walking her towards the main staircase, knowing that the Gryffindor common room was supposedly in a tower.

However, she stopped at a place where the corridor led to a staircase, and also branched into two. She took her bag from him, and climbed on to the first stair.

"I can't risk showing you the entrance to my common room."

"Fine, it's not like I don't know where it is. I _am_ a Prefect."

"Only the Head Boy and Head Girl know where all the common rooms are, you liar."

"Fine. If that's how you thank your wizard in shining robes, I'll just leave."

Draco took the corridor to his right, planning to hide and see where Potter went. He would be a hero in the Slytherin common room if he could exactly point out the location of the Gryffindorks' living quarters.

And also, it made sense to misdirect her into believing that the Slytherin common room was in this direction.

A voice called out from behind him in an almost singsong manner. "I know that's not the corridor to the Slytherin common rooms. It's the other way around."

Stunned, he turned around and made his way back to the staircase. How did she know that he had been going in the wrong direction, on purpose?

Feeling blindsided, he asked without thinking, "How do you know where the Slytherin common room is?"

"Why, Ferret, you were the one who took me into your snake pit!" she exclaimed in an exaggerated manner.

In a manner that would have embarrassed his Grandma Malfoy had she been alive, Draco spluttered out, "W-What!"

Potter simply smiled at him and changed topics. "Thanks for helping me out, my wizard in shining robes." And then she added, "No, seriously, thank you."

Draco nodded his head, knowing that he wouldn't get any information from her. "You owe me."

"I know."

"Good night," he called out, taking the corridor to his left, this time.

A soft voice called out to him, "Good night, Draco."

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **AN:**

Option A it is. :)

And I'm posting this chapter to celebrate life in general. Care diem. *throws hands up in the air and dances to a random DNCE song*

Reviews are love! (Encourage me to finish a chapter by this Saturday, please?)

* * *

 **Thank you** Glimmande Solsken, noneofmyshipssail, ms. potterclearwaterdiangelo, endlessnotebooks, Nataly SkyPot, Raven097, Captain CV, Littlest1, harryislife, TamashinoSuzume, ptl4ever419, lumusmaxima77, Ern Estine 13624, thestarsinthesky13, saku hyuuga, Ggiannoyla, Hikari. Kuro1994, RegdirbArze EzraBridger, TofuNinjaCat, DreamingOfForeverAfter, steffon22, Ashies and BrownieTheFangirl for reading and reviewing. :)

* * *

 **Guest Review Responses:**

Bloomnskyrules: Draco's not falling in love... Yet. I can't wait for the chapter where they realise that what they feel for each other is more than just friendship. ;) I think for now, Cho won't be spreading gossip, seeing as she's still grieving Cedric. But come DA meetings, things are bound to get interesting. :) Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! :)

Guest (1): Here's another chapter. :) Thanks!

Guest (2): I know I haven't updated in a month, but the 4th chapter should be out soon, probably next Sunday? I don't plan on doing a flashback scene because I think I might end up using ideas I've already used in this other story of mine which is a collection of Drarriet drabbles. But do look out for when Draco teases Harriet about the ball. ;) And yes, Draco will get a little less Pureblood happy, but not for a _long_ time. What he thinks of Muggleborns has been ingrained in him since birth, yes? Paradigm shifts take time. Thank you so so much for reading and reviewing. :)

TouchDouche: Thanks!

Sil: Here's an update, love. :)

Bristol: The Blacks were definitely a little more than dark. It's right up their alley to come up with a torturous writing utensil. Thanks for reading and reviewing. :)


	4. Chapter 4: Secret Friendship

**So far:**

Why is Draco Malfoy being so nice to her? Haven't they hated each other since September 1st, 1991? What is going on? What is he up to? Is he being nice to he just so she'll help him out with Parkinson, or does Malfoy have a different endgame? Obviously, Harriet just needs to be wary of the blond, and ignore how enchanting his eyes are.

 **Warnings:** Unbeta-ed. Also, I'm super sleepy, so excuse my possibly shoddy editing.

 **Genre:** Friendship, romance and humour.

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4**

 **SECRET FRIENDSHIP**

* * *

Harriet officially hated today. As she ate her lunch in stony silence, she decided to make a list of why the day was officially bad. She took out a piece of crumpled up parchment from her bag, and flattened it out.

"Whatcha writing, Harry?" asked Ron, his mouth full of food. But Harry didn't mind. He was the only friend she was talking to right now.

"I'm making a list of reasons as to why Hermione is the worst best-friend ever," she said loudly, glancing at the brunette as she said this. At least, the other girl had the decency to turn pink at this.

"Can I also add points?" asked Ron, which made Hermione turn and glare at them.

"Nuh-uh. Make your own list, Ron."

Being the amazingly lazy guy that he was, Ron went back to his plate of fried chicken, oblivious to the furious look on Hermione's face.

Harry proceeded with her list.

.

 _WHY TODAY IS HORRIBLE_

 _(1) 12:05 am: Hermione is not very nice to me when she finds out about the Black Quill. She is more preoccupied with why the handkerchief around my hand is monogrammed as 'D.L.M'._

 _(2) 7:30 am: I wake up late, only to have my very pleasant dream about grey eyes cut short by Hermione dumping water on me. What kind of a best friend does that?_

 _(3) At breakfast, time unknown: Angelina yells at me in front of EVERYONE. McGonagall removes points off me for getting into detention again. And Hermione refuses to support me, unlike Ron._

 _(4) Transfiguration class: I have to see the Toad's face for two hours today during Double Transfiguration. Though McGonagall does get back at Umbitch._

 _(5) 12:20 pm: It's so unfair that lunch gets postponed for us Gryffindors every Tuesday because of double Transfiguration. I am so hungry, I cannot wait for 1 pm, for class to get over._

 _(6) 1:30 pm: Hermione is being so mean to me. But that's okay because I'm never talking to her again._

 _(7) 1:35 pm: I've just realised that I have detention with Umbitch today. My hand hurts so bloody much. But it's a battle of wills. I will not back down from that bitch._

.

With that, Harry rolled her parchment up, and glared at Hermione. However, Hermione was engrossed in talking to Parvati about whether Trelawney deserved the way she had been treated yesterday by Umbridge.

At least, Parvati believed her, unlike that cow, Lavender.

Just before she was about to leave the table, a note inconspicuously appeared next to her plate. She took it and stuffed it into her skirt pocket, feeling slightly better about the day.

However, her good mood evaporated when she encountered Umbridge in the Care of Magical Creatures class. Umbridge seemed to be keen on getting the students to say that Hagrid had been a terrible teacher.

And Malfoy was being a git, on purpose. Every time Umbridge asked a stupid question, and Malfoy answered her, Harry felt her temper rise.

Though Hermione was supposedly not talking to Harry, both she and Ron gripped Harry's arms and tried to pull her towards the table of Bowtruckles, every time Malfoy opened his mouth.

When Umbridge asked if there had been any injuries in that class and Goyle gave a stupid grin, Harry knew that she was going to scream.

"That was me," Malfoy said, an evil look in his eyes. "I was slashed by a Hippogriff."

"Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do," yelled Harry.

From her either side, Ron and Hemrione groaned. Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry's direction.

"Another night's detention, I think," she said softly. After that, she turned to speak to Professor Grubbly-Plank, but Harry was too caught up in glaring at Malfoy. He too was staring at her, but there was something about his eyes. He seemed to be... Disappointed?

Harriet took out the note that she had stuffed in around an hour earlier, and opened it out.

.

 _'Harriet,_

 _"A Beginner's Guide to Healing" by Amalgus Blisfurb, Fifth edition, Page 242._

 _Learn it._

 _Yours,_

 _Foie Gras'_

.

She tore the parchment into tiny pieces in front of him, and when he and his cronies passed by the three of them, she blew the pieces right into his face.

He shook his head at her, his face strangely expressionless, as he walked away.

Hermione was staring intently at her, a shrewd look in her eyes. Ron, being the darling that he was, was calling Umbridge all the foul words he knew. And that made Harry feel marginally better.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge's office that night, her hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf she had wrapped around it.

When she bumped into Malfoy, in the same place as last night, she realised that it was probably not a coincidence. She decided to just keep walking.

"Potter? Potter!"

Harry kept walking, ignoring his hurried footsteps behind her. She had no choice however, but to not ignore Malfoy, when something hit her, pushing her to the ground. He had body tackled her to the floor from the back!

"You bloody git!"

"Ah, there's that voice I missed," he said, as she sat up, rubbing her elbows. Her bag was down on the floor next to her, it's clasp broken. All the contents were out, and her last ink bottle had broken, staining her bag.

She twisted to her side, to see that he too was sort of sprawled on the floor. She moved towards the nearby wall, and rested her head on it wearily. He did the same thing, pulling himself to her left.

"What do you want?"

"I'm guessing you didn't learn the spell yet."

She shook her head tiredly. Last night, she had been crying out of physical pain. But tonight, she felt like crying not just out of physical pain, but out of anger, frustration and her uncertainty over Sirius' and Hagrid's safety.

He reached across and took her right hand, and gently removed her Gryffindor scarf. As soon as he uttered the _Loksomnum_ spell, she felt herself growing tired, as the pain instantaneously disappeared. She closed her eyes and leaned further into the wall.

"Potter? Potter? Umm... Harriet?"

Harriet opened her eyes blearily, to find herself getting prodded in the ribs by Malfoy's long pale index finger.

"I'm up," she slurred, as she tried to sit up and wake up completely. As she felt more alert, she realised that Malfoy had neatly packed her things back into her bag, and that the ink stain had disappeared. She looked down at her hand, to find that the bleeding had stopped.

"How...?" she asked, her voice sounding raspy to her own ears.

"A new spell I learnt."

And then she remembered how he had insulted Hagrid in today's class. She smacked the side of his head using her right hand, twisting a little to reach his head.

To her immense astonishment, he smacked her back.

"How dare you hit me!"

"You hit me first!"

"You can't hit me, I'm a girl!"

"My mother told me to treat girls and boys the same."

She took a deep breath in, realising how flimsy her argument had sounded. She was surprised, though, to find out that Narcissa Malfoy had such progressive, feminist views.

"I never thought your mother would be a feminist."

"There are many things you don't know, Potter."

She stared at him, surprised that he had gone back to calling her Potter. Of course, that was for the best. She hated him for getting her another detention with Umbridge.

"Why are you so keen on getting Hagrid out? What do you have against him?"

"I don't like people who are odd and different."

"You sound a lot like Hitler, right now."

"Who?"

"A Muggle dictator... You wouldn't know."

"Muggles are so stupid."

Harry chose to ignore that.

"I no longer owe you for your helping me out yesterday, seeing as you got me extra detention. And I don't owe you a thing for today, because you willingly hurt Hagrid's credibility."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. So Harry asked him another question.

"Why do you hate Ron?"

"Because he's a Blood-Traitor. And he's your friend."

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't know if I have ever really hated you," he answered softly, his eyes smouldering in the gloomy lighting.

Harriet felt something shift within her. The needle of that mental balance was now slowly swerving from the extreme right to the centre. It was not completely at the centre, it was still a bit to the right... She was only fifty-one percent sure that she hated him.

And somehow, that didn't seem like a bad thing.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harriet expected the common room to be empty when she returned, but Ron and Hermione had sat up waiting for her. She was pleased to see them, especially as Hermione was disposed to be sympathetic rather than critical.

As she placed her hand in the bowl of Murtlap tentacle essence, she felt a wave of calm push through her body, starting from her hurt hand.

Unfortunately, some fifteen minutes later, that wonderful bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed, when Harriet stood up to scream at her two best friends. The two of them had been going on and on about how she was a powerful witch, and how she was the best in duelling, and how she should probably take DADA classes for other students.

That set her off.

Without really paying attention to what she was saying, she yelled at them, about how it was pure luck that had saved her, about how it felt to be a nanosecond away from being murdered, or tortured, or watching a friend die. She yelled at them about Diggory, and how their remarks made it sound like she was a clever little girl to still be alive, while Diggory was dead because he was stupid. She yelled at them about Voldemort, and slowly, she felt lighter.

She felt as though someone had taken something off her chest, but that sense of relief was short lived. Hermione's face looked stricken, while Ron looked aghast.

As she sat down, still breathing hard, she became aware of her throbbing right hand.

As Ron tried to clarify his earlier sentences, and Hermione said Voldemort's name (as opposed to her usual stuttering of You-Know-Who) for the first time ever while making her statement, Harry felt herself truly calm down. Which was why when Hermione asked Harriet to at least think about such classes, she nodded, feeling ashamed. She hardly knew what she was agreeing to, though.

Harry repaired the smashed bowl, bid Ron a good night, and went upstairs to her dorm, along with Hermione.

However, it was not in Hermione's nature to be very patient. When both of them had changed into their pyjamas, Hermione moved to Harry's bed, and stared at the green-eyed girl pointedly.

"What?"

"Your hand hurts, doesn't it?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"That's because Murtlap essence removes the action of any and all numbing spells."

"What makes you think I had a numbing spell in the first place?"

"If you hadn't had a numbing spell on it, I would have figured out what Umbridge was doing last Friday itself. So quit lying to me." She paused, before continuing with an uncharacteristic twinkle in her eyes, "So, no monogrammed handkerchief today?"

"Hermione..."

"It's a Slytherin we all hate, isn't it?" She looked sombre now, though.

"Hermione..."

"Damn it, Harry! Why won't you tell me outright who it is?" she asked, impatient as always.

"Well, why don't you tell me about your feelings towards a certain male Weasley?" asked Harry, feeling particularly clever.

"I don't like Ron!" cried Hermione, her voice shriller than usual, and her face slightly pink.

"Who said Ron is the only male Weasley in the school right now?"

Hermione glared at her, and Harry felt a smirk form on her face.

"Looks like someone is rubbing off on you," she said finally, moving back to her own bed.

"What?" asked Harry, as Hermione turned off the lamp. The room was now cast in darkness.

"Your smirk... It was disturbingly similar to a certain Slytherin's smirk."

Harry rested her head on her pillow, and after a few moments, asked, "Hey 'Mione. No matter what I do, we'll always be friends, right?"

When Hermione didn't reply for a while, Harry wondered if she had fallen asleep.

"We're more than friends, Harry. We're family. I'll always be there for you." And then, as an afterthought, Hermione added, "Even if you decide to date a Malfoy."

Harry threw one of her spare pillows at the figure in the neighbouring bed, as that figure buried itself under the blankets, giggling.

"Good night, Harry."

"Good night, 'Mione," called out Harry sleepily, before drifting off to sleep, dreaming about grey eyes and Murtlap tentacles.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Over the next three days, Draco Malfoy fell into a pattern where he met up with Harriet Potter every night after her detention with Umbridge.

He would cast the pain numbing spell and the blood clotting spell, and they would just lean against the wall of _their_ corridor, as he liked to call it, and talk about nothing in particular. After some time, he would walk her up to that dratted staircase, where she would wait till he turned left and actually left the place, before going up to her common room.

On Wednesday, during the Care of Magical Creatures class, when Professor Grubbly-Plank asked them to pair up again, he had dragged Potter off with him, despite there being plenty of Bowtruckles left on the table. She had announced in her bratty voice that that was him using his first 'Get-Out-Of-Pansy's-Clutches Card', after which she had seen his confused look, and said that it was a Muggle thing.

Before class ended, he had quietly given her a bottle of the best quality Scrivenshaft ink that he normally used, with a note attached to it, saying ' _For last night.'_ She had read the note, figured out the innuendo, and had rolled her eyes, before rewarding him with her a brilliant smile. And _that_ had left him feeling breathless.

On Thursday, when he had seen that Potter's face was glum after being called a liar by that Irish boy in her House, he had thrown a salamander tail into Longbottom's cauldron, when Longbottom was in the ingredients room. The cauldron had burst, spewing its volatile contents onto the Irish boy, giving him warts on the face.

All the Slytherins had laughed, and Draco had smiled when he had seen that Harry and her two stupid friends were also laughing. Snape had been all too happy to remove points from Gryffindor, and he had refused to let Finnigan (Aah, so that was his name) to go to the hospital wing.

When Potter caught his eye, she had smiled at him, and when he winked at her, she had positively beamed at him.

And today, when Potter had fallen asleep during History of Magic, he had answered her attendance call, much to Weasley's astonishment, Granger's and Blaise's amusement, and Pansy's annoyance.

But now, walking back to the Slytherin common room after walking her to _their_ staircase, he felt dreadful about the upcoming weekend. Come Monday, he would no longer have an excuse to spend time with Harriet Potter, unless she opened her idiotic mouth and got into trouble once again. And it wasn't as though he could just go spend time with her over the weekend. The entire castle would have a fit if he was ever seen doing that.

And to add to that dread, were his feelings of confliction. All along, he had known what he was supposed to do. But now, he didn't know what the fuck he was to do.

Initially, he had been trained to become a proper Pureblood Malfoy patriarch and handle the family's various businesses. But then, last summer, the Dark Lord had made his return, and it had been decided that eventually, he would join the Death Eaters.

But now, that position of a Death Eater did not seem too enticing, the way it had a few months back. He supposed that he would make a lousy Death Eater, considering his newly bourgeoning friendship (could it be called that?) with their nemesis, Harriet Potter.

Wrapped up in such thoughts full of angst and emotions, he opened his bedroom door, to find a roll of parchment on his green duvet.

He went straight to it, and picked it up.

.

' _Drakie-poo,_

 _If you're reading this message, it means Dobby has done his work properly. I don't know if this is how you got the house elves to place those notes, but I had Dobby place it in your room._

 _Anyway, I'm rambling, as usual. What I wanted to ask you was, would you like to meet me in the library tomorrow at five pm. You think you can manage that, with your Prefect duties?_

 _It's an oui-non question. And your answer is supposed to be oui._

 _As of the time at which I write this letter (or is it a note?), I haven't had today's detention yet. In case we fight tonight, consider this library meeting cancelled._

 _Yours charmingly,_

 _A French Learner._

 _P.S. Do you want your handkerchief back? My_ female friend _knows it's yours. What kind of a prat gets his hankie monogrammed? '_

 _._

And suddenly, just like that, the weekend didn't seem so dreadful, after all.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **End Note:**

The phrase 'no shit, Sherlock' probably did not exist in 1995, but anyway, just go with it. I usually like stories to correspond perfectly with the period in which they're set in, even the trivial details. And I don't know when the term came into vogue, so I ask you to go with it.

* * *

 **Review responses:**

Thanks harryislife, lumusmaxima77, Nataly SkyPot, BrownieTheFangirl, Raven097, ptl4ever419, Littlest1, Ern Estine 13624, GiuliaZe, LyraStarlight, myafroatemydog, Sharon, Little. Ms. Lonely, Hikari. Kuro 1994 and Lola for your reviews. They're much appreciated.

I'll reply to them all in some time. Thanks, once again. :)

Sharon: Thank you! :)

Lola: I used to ship Dramione like crazy, till I was converted to HHr. And then it became Drarry, and here we are today. I always used to read Dramione fics filled with heartbreak and angst for some masochistic reason – it was just a phase, I guess. So I haven't read Footnotes, but you've made me curious. However, for safety's sake, I'll read it once I've written the entire Fifth Year of this fic. Thank you so much for your kind words. They mean a lot. :)

* * *

 **AN:** Reviews are love! I hope to update once more this month.


	5. Chapter 5: Inter-House Rendezvousing

**Warnings:** Unbeta-ed, as usual. :)

 **Genre:** Friendship; Romance; Humour

 **Note:** There's a test tomorrow for which I should be studying, but since it's Harry's (and Neville's!) birthday, I figured I'd update instead, even though I haven't finished the latest chapter I'm working on.

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM  
**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5**

 **INTER-HOUSE RENDEZVOUSING**

* * *

At five minutes past five, Draco entered the library, ensuring that his stride looked regal and classy. His mother always said that one could gain a person's respect and fear simply by walking with the right gait. Aah, how he loved his Pureblood upbringing.

He silently scanned the various tables, and when he couldn't make out a shock of black hair anywhere, he went deeper into the library. How typical of Potter to have given such vague directions. It was no wonder she failed Potions class all the time.

Not finding her anywhere, he made his way to the aisle with books on offensive jinxes. Just as he was about to pull out a particularly heavy book, a hand from behind clamped shut on his mouth.

Instead of losing his head and screaming, he thought about it. Only an idiotic Gryffindor would try to do something like this, alone. And going by the smallness of the hand, he knew who it was.

He turned around as fast as possible, pinning her to the other side of the aisle with both his hands. Her right arm was now limply resting against his shoulder, her right hand now on the back of his head, where his lips had been before he turned.

He took a step closer to her, relishing the warmth of her smaller body. Her eyes, though wide, were not surprised. Or shocked. In fact, she had a defiant look in her eyes, one eyebrow quirked. Why was she copying his expressions?

He bent his head low, as if to kiss her, before saying in as low a voice as possible, "Hello, Potthead."

She pressed her left index finger to her mouth, and said, "Shhh." As if her glittery green nail was not distracting enough, it drew his attention to her lips, which seemed to be painted an inviting shade of cherry red.

She noticed his attention on her lips, and instead of blushing like most of the girls he had been with, she merely looked at him with narrowed eyes.

She then took a piece of paper out of her skirt pocket and held it up between them. He was forced to break his cage around her, and took the paper with his right hand. He didn't want to move his left arm and dislodge her warm arm from its place on his shoulder and neck.

However, as soon as he took the note, she messed up his hair with her right hand, before escaping away from him.

Amused, he opened it, to find her chicken scrawl.

.

 _'Drakie-poo!_

 _Take some book and come sit with me by the window overlooking the Forbidden Forest. It's by the Astronomy aisle, in case you didn't know._

 _I need to ask you something._

 _Just kidding! I scared you, didn't I? HAHAHAHA!_

 _On a more serious note, don't draw much attention to yourself. My_ female friend _will be coming to the library at around half past six. She already thinks there is something going on between you and me._

 _And that reminds me, thanks for the attendance call thing yesterday._

 _Actually, I have a lot of things to ask you._

 _Don't run away._

 _Cheers,_

 _Me'_

.

He was surprised at how she had predicted that he might want to run away. But he was even more surprised by how much forethought she was displaying, uncharacteristically. It made sense to not let anyone else know that he was meeting with a Halfblood on a frequent basis.

He elegantly folded the note and put it inside his pocket. He took out the volume that he had been intending to take out before Potter had surprised him. As he made his way to the lounge that she was talking about, he realised that it was very quiet and very far away from the other students. It looked like Potter had half a brain.

He stopped and watched her, as she stared at the Forbidden Forest. The sun was beginning to set, and she seemed lost in her own world.

"Preoccupied, Potthead?" he asked, surprised that his voice had no malice in it.

She turned around and grinned at him, her teeth glinting in the setting sun's light.

"You came!" she exclaimed, sitting down on a maroon armchair.

He sat down on an armchair that looked much more comfortable than the one Potter had taken. He leaned over the small table in front of them and kept his book there gently, before leaning back into his chair and looking at Potter with as much contempt as he could summon.

Unfortunately, she didn't seem intimidated. She instead took out the Amalgus Blisfurb book from her bag and kept it on the table right on top of his larger volume.

"I gather we aren't here to study."

Potter scoffed and said, "Hell, no. I'll never be found studying this early into the year."

"It _is_ OWL year, after all. But I guess only people with ambition and brains would take it seriously."

Instead of looking insulted, she tilted her head to one side and looked at him thoughtfully.

"I guess you're right, Draco."

Draco felt a sting inside his chest. Was it happiness? Was it hope? What was it?

Meanwhile, Potter was continuing, "What do you want to do when you pass out of Hogwarts?"

In all his fifteen years and four months of existence, no one had ever asked him that question. He felt his mind soar with the myriad of things he might want to do. The keyword was 'want'. She hadn't asked him what he _would_ do.

She looked at him through half lidded eyes, in no hurry to hear his answer.

"Something to do with Alchemy, I suppose."

A sad smile formed on her face, her eyes understanding.

"But that isn't what you _will_ do, is it?" she asked, her voice soft. But before he could say or ask anything, she announced in a falsely cheerful tone, "I never thought of the future. I never make plans. I can't make plans and all that. It's all an adventure, I guess."

But Draco understood what she meant. She didn't know if she'd ever make it out of Hogwarts alive. She didn't _want_ to make plans. And somehow, he felt a strong stab of pity for the girl sitting in front of him. And for the first time ever, he felt something constricting his chest.

It was a new concept to him. _Guilt._

He changed the topic, as the lights all came on magically. In the bright light from the nearby lamp, he noticed that she had tiny studs pierced into her ears.

Predictably, they were ruby.

"Having any trouble with the pain numbing spell?"

"I'm not sure if my wand movements are right."

"I could teach you if you want me to."

"And you don't want anything in return?" she asked, a little too innocently. Typical Gryffindor, speaking without thinking.

For a moment, Draco wanted to ask her for her Firebolt. But he let that thought slide, surprisingly content with not wanting anything in return.

"I want nothing in return." And then with a devilish smirk, he added, "For now."

She simply rolled her eyes. Why was it she rolled her eyes so much?

Thirty minutes later, he was pretty sure she had nailed the wand-movement. Harriet Potter was a decent student, when she put her mind to it. All along, he had thought that her acceptable grades were because of the Mudblood. But it turned out that she was fine on her own.

Or rather, she was good at things which did not need detail to attention, like Potions.

As she closed her eyes and rested her head on her overstuffed armchair, he opened the book he had taken – ' _Offensive Jinxes Which Can't Be Countered: A compilation by Felix R Trentworth'_ . But he never got a chance to read past the preface.

"Mal - Draco?"

He had never heard the Gryffindor call him so hesitantly. It seemed like this rendezvous at the library was full of surprises. 'Rendezvous' was another word he had to add to her French vocabulary.

"Yes, _Harriet_?" He stressed on her name to ensure that she understood that he, Draco Malfoy, was comfortable with using her first name.

"You know how you said you wanted nothing in return?"

He nodded to show that he was listening. He had no idea where she was going with this.

"I personally don't think it's fair for you to do all that without anything in return."

He stared at her. He now really had no idea what was going on.

"So I've come up with an idea to nullify and settle any debts that may ever arise between the two of us."

He quirked one eyebrow up in incredulity. Usually, in Pureblood families, settling all debts that may ever arise in the future meant only thing. Offering the hand of a member of that family to a member of the other family in marriage. Surely Potter didn't want to offer herself for _marriage_!

She held out her hand, and Draco thought he would faint.

The offering of oneself for marriage for a life-long debtless alliance involved clasping of hands between either the Heads of the Houses, or between the two who intended to be married for the formation of the said debtless alliance bond. The clasping of hands was accompanied by the uttering of an oath.

"Do you think if we try, we can maybe be friends?"

So she was not throwing herself at him for marriage.

Draco wanted to let out a sigh of relief. As much as his view of the girl had changed, he didn't want to _marry_ her. Ideally, as a Malfoy, he would only have to worry about marriage when he reached the age of twenty one. He was planning on bedding as many girls as possible before that.

Somehow seeing an outstretched hand, offering friendship, he could only think of how he had offered his friendship to the same girl sitting in front of him, and how she had thrown it right in his face. And that memory made him realise that that was why he hated the Weasel and the Mudblood.

"Or maybe not," said Potter tonelessly, lowering her hand.

Could he set things right this time around? He knew that the Dark Lord was back for good. His father had made it very clear, though he had not said anything directly to Draco, in case of a Veritaserum questioning. And from the way Potter had avoided him after the Third Task, he knew that his father had been present at the supposed resurrection of the Dark Lord.

His father, however, did not seem to be pleased at the resurrection of the Dark Lord. He had, in fact, been more worried than ever. Draco had a feeling that his father did not want to lose all the respect and power that he had built over the past fourteen years, in the absence of the Dark Lord.

Was it possible that the Dark Lord might fail? In which case, it would make sense to have a powerful ally on the Light side. And apart from Dumbledore, who was the brightest icon of the Light side? Harriet Potter. An alliance with her would make things convenient, if her side won. If the Dark side won, he could always say that his family had been a part of it.

"It isn't fair of you to ask me that, Potter." He paused to take in her strangely vulnerable expression. He had to savour this. After all, she had done the same thing to him four years ago. He continued, "I asked you that once, remember? On the Hogwarts Express."

Her eyes widened, and her face turned pink, clearly in shame.

"I'm sorry Malfoy, I didn't realise - "

He cut her off, "It's only fair that _I_ ask you the question. Are you willing to enter into an alliance with me? An alliance where we keep no track of what we owe one another?"

Her nose scrunched up slightly, clearly at his usage of words.

"So we'll be friends?"

"Not exactly."

"Then?"

"As I said. An alliance. Where we both can ask favours off the other, without the problem of repayment."

"How is that different from a friendship?"

"Well, for starters, I won't demand that you spend all your time with me, the way a friend would demand."

She slowly nodded her head, her eyes brightening, as she liked the idea more and more.

He held out his hand to her and this time around, she took it.

He felt a wave of contentment wash through his body as he shook her hand. He told himself that it was just happiness and contentment from having successfully executed a perfectly Slytherin plan, but he knew that he was lying to himself. Deep down, he knew that he had only been trying to justify what he truly wanted to do, as a Slytherin plan.

"So does that mean I get to call you Drakie-poo?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Draco groaned.

What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harry was meeting with Draco today as well. He had sent a note during breakfast, through the house elves, as usual.

.

' _French Learner,_

 _Fancy meeting at the same aisle as yesterday? We never did get to finish what we started there. I'll be there at four pm._

 _Forever yours,_

 _Your Amazing Lover'_

.

Harriet had felt a strong urge to roll her eyes at reading his note, especially at the sign off. But clearly, he hadn't felt comfortable using the word 'dear', though both of them had used it before when they were teasing each other. This had given her a strange sense of power over the blond haired git.

At fifteen minutes to four, she had come running out of her dormitory, having taken a rather long siesta. She had frantically been combing her hair, as Ron looked at her in bewilderment. Hermione had smirked at her knowingly, when she had tried to ditch Ron and her in the common room.

In all honesty though, Harry had been surprised by Hermione's reaction to her spending time with Mal - _Draco_. Hermione, the wary one, hadn't been bothered by the fact that Lucius Malfoy was a bloody Death Eater.

While Harry had her doubts about this 'alliance' thing, she knew that all she had to do was be wary of Malfoy and not give out too much important information. After all, his father _was_ a Death Eater. But if she could have a genuine alliance or friendship with him, she might be able to help the Order out with inside information.

Lost in her thoughts of possible betrayal in the future, Harry waited in the library, hidden under her Invisibility Cloak, to see if Malfoy would actually turn up. Minutes ticked by, and there was no trace of him.

Feeling slightly annoyed, she took out her Marauder's Map, and whispered the necessary words. As she scanned the map looking for Malfoy's dot, she heard a slight shuffling noise in front of her. When she looked down, she was surprised to see his dot right next to hers.

She hurriedly whispered, "Mischief managed," keeping her voice as low as possible.

Both she and Malfoy spoke at the same time.

He said, "I heard you, Harriet," just as she said, "Impressive Disillusionment charm, Drakie-poo."

Draco slowly appeared, having disabled his charm. He looked expectantly at her, or rather, the place where she stood.

She sighed. She didn't want him to know that she had an Invisibility Cloak.

"Draco? Could you turn around?"

"Why?" he asked, clearly looking confused.

Thinking fast, she lied, "Sometimes, when I remove my Disillusionment charm, my clothes remain disillusioned." She hoped that her voice sounded embarrassed. Harry felt her right hand burn, almost as if to remind her to not lie.

"I'd love to see that," he smirked, folding his arms across his chest. Harry took a moment to admire his chest, which had become broad and filled out over the past year. He couldn't see that he was ogling, so it really didn't matter.

"Malfoy!" She tried to sound indignant, when in truth, she just wanted to blind him with a spell.

He continued standing there, leaning sideways against the aisle casually, smirking.

Harry had another brilliant idea. She cast a nonverbal spell on her shoes for silence, and started backing away from the pompous arse. When she reached the end of the aisle, she went into the neighbouring aisle, and hastily stuffed her cloak and the map into her bag, uttering a spell to keep the bag locked.

Thank Merlin, Hermione had made her and Ron practice nonverbal spells on the train ride back in the Fourth Year. Hermione had been convinced that it was high time they learnt something useful on their own.

And right now, it was helping her out greatly.

She made her way through this aisle, back towards the end where Draco was standing, in the other aisle. He was such a git. He deserved to be pranked. She quietly walked up to him from behind and wondered if this was how Peeves felt every day.

"BOO!"

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco now faced a dilemma. Was he supposed to tell his father of this new alliance he had struck with the Girl-Who-Lived? He usually told his father of any connections he made, so that information would flow both ways between father and son. However, Harriet Potter was not anyone 'usual'. She was definitely unusual.

He knew that the way he kept meticulous tabs on her was slightly on the obsessive side, but as father always said, keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer. His obsession with her was definitely unhealthy, and he knew that.

But where earlier he was a mere stalker, right now, he was an ally. Keeping close tabs on an ally was fine, because it meant you were indirectly looking out for your own back. So if he chose to follow Po- _Harriet_ around, it would no longer be unhealthy.

He smiled grimly at the thought, and looked up from his _Offensive Jinxes_ book to see her watching him curiously.

"Like what you're staring at?"

"Funnily, no. I was just thinking that you might be anaemic. You're too pale."

Draco scowled at her. Obviously now that she thought they were on friendlier terms, she thought she could insult him without much hatred.

"I'll have you know that we Malfoys have always had pale features."

"Aren't pale features an indication of a poor constituency?"

Draco felt his scowl deepening. However, before he could retort, Harriet said in a panicked voice, "Parkinson alert."

He knew that if he wanted to get out of this place with his secrets intact, he would have to stage a fight with Harr- _Potter._

He stood up, and pulled her up. Harriet had her eyes glued to Pansy, who was walking closer and closer to the partially hidden lounge. He bent his head and whispered in her ear, "Surprise test in Potions on Thursday."

Her hair smelled of vanilla, just like last time. But there was something else that he couldn't quite figure out. Some herb? Rosemary? He wasn't sure.

He then moved away from her, and in a loud, cold voice said, "Why are you reading that book on healing spells, Potter? Do you want to be a Healer?"

Harriet's eyes flicked to someone standing behind Draco, and he understood that they had caught Parkinson's attention.

"Why do you care, Malfoy? Some of us don't plan to sponge off our fathers for the rest of our lives."

Thankfully, a shrill voice behind him answered, "Don't you _dare_ talk to my Draco that way, you filthy Halfblood."

"I would rather be a Halfblood, than be an ugly pug-faced Pureblood like you. Looks like inbreeding gone wrong."

Draco was very tempted to smirk, but something knocked him in the shoulder as Pansy launched herself at Harriet. The Gryffindor simply stood in her place, not bothering to move. Draco was just considering putting himself between the girls, when Pansy fell down face first, her nose hitting the small table.

As she yowled with pain, Draco noticed that Harriet had bound Pansy's legs together at the last minute, making her trip. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stuff her wand back into her Muggle trousers pocket. Her Muggle trousers were tight fitting, and it outlined the curve of her hips. Such trousers were _very_ distracting. It looked like those filthy Muggles had got something right, for once.

"Pugface will now have a pug's nose. Won't that be funny to see?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter."

"It was worth it, Ferret."

With that, she gathered her bag and strode out of the lounge, leaving him to deal with a howling Parkinson. _Alone._ He dragged her up and took her to the hospital wing, as she clung to his arm tightly.

When Pansy declared herself unfit to return to the common room, Draco felt like singing. He decided to send Harriet a bunch of flowers. She deserved it, for getting him a night of peace.

Yes, he would get her some flowers.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

As Harry got ready to go to bed, there was an insistent tapping on her window. She opened it and let Hedwig inside. Harry had gotten a reply from her French friend.

.

' _Dear Harry,_

 _I hope you are well too. My part-time job at Gringotts is going well but the Goblins are hard to please. My job is still part-time, as you can see. I am currently taking lessons in English. So if you find any mistakes in my letter, please do tell me._

 _That boy who asked you that question is a_ cad méprisable _, and you were write to reply with a non. Here is what it means:_

 _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?_

 _Would you like to sleep with me tonight?_

 _Voulez - vous: Would you like to_

 _Coucher: Sleep_

 _Avec: With_

 _Moi: Me_

 _Ce soir: Tonight_

 _You are much too young to do such things. Think of me as an older sister. Keep in touch. If this boy continues this, tell your Headmaster._

 _With love,_

 _Fleur'_

 _._

Harry re-read the letter, noticing the only minor mistake that Fleur had made. She was still fuming. That bloody ponce had asked her to sleep with him! And while usually Harry wouldn't have minded such nonsense, Hermione had just spent the previous hour lecturing her and Ron about how written agreements could act as binding contracts, especially when the perpetrator was a Pureblood.

Harry decided to get back at the smarmy git tomorrow, probably during History of Magic.

The only good thing to come out of the Triwizard Tournament was that she and Fleur had struck up a regular correspondence, with the older girl often giving Harry fashion advice. But recently, Fleur's letters had become shorter, and Harry didn't know why.

Harry decided to send Fleur a present during Christmas. The quarter-Veela was probably just feeling lonely.

Did that mean she had to get Draco, the _cad méprisable_ , a Christmas present as well?

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **Guest review replies:**

Guest: Thanks for pointing that out. :)

Sadie: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. :) And also, thanks for that bit about 'no shit, Sherlock', I'm so glad it existed way before 1995. :) I hope you liked this chapter as well.

Mia: Haha, I agree with you about Dramione. It doesn't help that Drarry (Drarriet) is my OTP. :D Thanks for reviewing. :)

Sherry: I usually imagine fem!Harry to look like Katie McGrath. Anna Speckhart looks lovely too. :) And oh my goodness, Emil Andersson is a WORK OF ART. :O :O Such beauty. :O Thanks for sharing your thoughts. :)

test: Wow, you reviewed all four chapters. Thanks. :) Are you the same person who reviewed _Determinisn, Destiny And Free-Will_ , as well as _31 Days Of Winter_? In which case, thanks for that as well. I agree, Drarry is the best pairing in the HPverse. :D And thanks for pointing out that 1990 thing. :) And lastly, omigosh, were you serious when you said the third chapter was the best? I thought it wasn't that great because it garnered the least reviews of all four. :/ But thanks for saying that. :) Thank you so so much for reading and reviewing. :)

* * *

 **AN:**

Is anyone else excited about the alliance? :D What do you think is going to happen next? :) Remember, the story's going to be nice and long and _slow_ , so if the pace gets annoying, tell me, okay? :* I'll keep it in mind when I write future chapters. But one of prime aims is to explore everyday Hogwarts life as well. :)

I've been thinking of adding an omake for every 100th review. What are your thoughts? O:)

Let's take a moment to wish Harry and Neville, and also a moment to appreciate the sheer genius that The Cursed Child is. :') Who wants spoilers? :*

(Has anyone else started shipping certain new characters with certain other characters?) :D

Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6: A Written Agreement

**A brief summary:**

Harriet Jillian Potter is a playful, mischievous, restless Gryffindor currently pursuing her Fifth Year at Hogwarts, while Draco Lucius Malfoy is an ambitious, often pretentious, overthinking Slytherin who is in the same year as the other protagonist of this story. Though both of them have been at loggerheads for most of the four years they've known each other, for some inexplicable reason, they've started sending each other notes.

And that is how our story starts.

Initially, it's a very clinical relationship – with them keeping score and such, but as Draco helps Harriet out after her bleeding detentions, and as Harriet sees a much more humane side of her ex-rival, the lines blur, and the needle doesn't point true north anymore. In other words, our two dearest characters are conflicted, and because we take pleasure in watching them have confounding feelings towards one another, we observe with avid interest.

Draco pretends that it's all because he wants to build up credit with the Light side, and Harriet claims it's to get extra information for the upcoming war, but we genuinely know better and the truth is that they're very adorable in their denial and that they are (or can be) pretty decent friends. And for the moment, because we're very magnanimous people, we'll allow them to live under whatever pretext they claim, which is that they're _allies_ , that they're part of an official magical "alliance".

There are a few bitches involved in the story as well. One wears pink and loves giving detentions to Harriet; the other wears red and gold, has the name of a shade of purple, and is nasty to Harriet (who is also her roommate); the third wears green and silver and fancies herself to be Draco's girlfriend. (Poor thing.)

And lastly, we won't really have a story without our dearest nosy friends, would we? There's a bushy haired witch, a red-headed chess whiz, and an Italian heartthrob, who all actively play important roles in the lives of our two protagonists. In their opinion, the story really wouldn't progress without the three of them guiding our two adorable (idiotic) note-senders.

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6**

 **A WRITTEN AGREEMENT**

* * *

Harry got up extra early the next morning, and after getting dressed, hurried to the kitchens to grab some toast and pumpkin juice. She then went to the History of Magic classroom, and sat at the same last bench she had occupied last week.

She took out her wand and tried out the new repelling spell she had learnt late last night. Once she was sure that she could cast the incantation, she cast the spell on the empty seat next to her. She then took out her Transfiguration essay, and continued working on it.

Soon, students started filling in, but they saw the empty seat beside Harry and just went away. Harry still didn't know if the spell was actually working, because the true test would be Ron and Hermione. When Ron entered the room with Hermione scolding him for being late, he simply greeted Harry and went to sit with Hermione at the second bench. This made Hermione turn around and throw a suspicious glance at Harry, but Harry just ignored her.

Harry felt a small spark of pleasure shoot through her, as she realised that she had indeed cast a NEWT level charm successfully. And almost all the students had assembled, except for Malfoy, and much to her consternation, Parkinson.

Finally, as the bell rang and Professor Binns floated through, Malfoy came rushing in, with Parkinson hot behind his heels. Harry quickly cast a _Finite Incantaeum._ He saw that there were three spots left in the class – one next to Zabini right in the front, one next to Neville, and one next to her. He immediately sat down next to her, causing Parkinson to glare venomously at her.

'I'll get you next time, bitch,' Harry thought to herself, thrilled to see that Parkinson's nose was red and puffy, rather like a red capsicum.

If Neville was surprised by Draco sitting next to her, he didn't say anything. He was busy reading a Herbology book under the desk, and Binns hadn't even started class yet! Harry was pleased to see the usually timid boy do something mildly reckless.

"I'm guessing that you're the one who made me late?" asked Draco, his voice a whisper.

Harry smirked, without turning around to look at him. That seemed to frustrate him even more.

"House elves?"

Harry turned to look at him, before bestowing him with a smile. "Yup," she said, popping the 'p'.

"Ingenious, Potthead, but why?"

Harry replied only after roll call was over, but she replied by writing on the piece of parchment he had so graciously left behind with her last Monday.

 _'To teach you a lesson, you insufferable git.'_

 _'What did I do, Scarface?'_

 _'What do you know about written agreements?'_

 _'They're magically binding in the Wizarding World?'_

 _'Remember the last 'French' class where you asked me a stupid question?'_

At this, Draco stopped and looked at her with his eyes slightly wide.

"I didn't mean it that way, I swear," he said forcefully, though it wasn't very loud. However, it was loud enough for Parvati and Lavender, sitting in front of them, to turn around and glance at them suspiciously.

So Harry took up the common quill and started writing furiously.

' _Keep your voice down, you cad méprisable! Do you WANT people to gossip about us sitting together?'_

 _'You used two French words. I'm a great teacher.'_

 _'My friend who is a French national called you that. And going by the meaning of cad in English, I'm safe in calling you that.'_

 _'It means "despicable cad". Is your friend who called me that single?'_

 _'Leaving Little Puggy for my beautiful friend? Smart move. Unfortunately for you, she's older to you.'_

 _'The Blacks have often married witches older than them. Wait, your friend is a witch, right?'_

 _'As opposed to a Muggle? Yes, she is. But I don't see why that is of any concern to you.'_

 _'Muggles are barbaric, savage creatures that are uncivilised and stupid. Anyone bothering to associate with them must be avoided.'_

Harry felt herself scowl as she read what he had written. True, the Dursleys were all that he had mentioned, but not all Muggles were that way. Her mother's parents had been Muggle, after all.

 _'Please take your biased, stupid Pureblood views somewhere else. I'm not interested in talking to you anymore.'_

With that, she snatched her quill away, and moved all her things to sit next to Neville. Thankfully, the free seat next to Neville had been to her immediate left, and her transfer went unnoticed by everyone.

She took a moment to glare at Draco, as he looked at her in disbelief. She then put her head on the desk, just the way Neville had, and went to sleep.

She should have known that being sort-of-friends with Draco would lead to this.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

That night, when Harriet made her way back from Umbitch's bleeding detention, she used her Invisibility Cloak. She even used a Silencing charm on her shoes, all just to avoid Malfoy.

When she passed by him on _their_ corridor, leaning against the wall with a frown on his face, she felt the slightest bit of guilt. He really had no reason to meet her after detention, now that she knew the Loksomnum spell.

He looked up suddenly, as if he sensed her there, and Harriet realised that she'd probably been breathing too loudly or something. What was it that he had told her the other day in the library? That the first time he came across her in the corridor, she'd sounded like a wounded horse.

 _Right._

She tried to still her breath and leave the corridor as fast as possible.

When she was in the safety of her common room, she allowed Hermione to give her some more Murtlap essence, not wanting an ugly scar on her hand. Wasn't the scar on her forehead enough?

There had been a time when she'd thought that her lightning shaped scar was pretty cool, but after being teased relentlessly by Malfoy in Third Year that no one in their right minds would want to kiss a person with such a hideous scar, she'd become highly conscious of it.

She'd taken to wearing concealer and Muggle make-up for a while after that, courtesy Lavender and Parvati, but ultimately, she'd stopped when she realised that she could not give Malfoy the satisfaction of getting under her skin.

And yet, here they were.

And though Malfoy had made some highly biased statements against Muggles, she couldn't help but feel guilty about leaving him standing there. It almost felt like she was standing him up, though their nightly meetings were definitely not scheduled or anything.

Merlin, why was everything so confusing?

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco was not in the most pleasant of moods. He felt stupid. He had been tactless while talking to the Girl-Who-Lived, who was the champion of all creatures, magical and non-magical. Why had he openly displayed his disdain for those nasty Muggles?

After her standing him up on Monday, he had considered not sending her flowers as he had originally planned. But then she was still angry with him, even after three days. And she'd even ignored him in Care of Magical Creatures yesterday, choosing to partner up with Longbottom, of all people.

Well, Father always gave Mother flowers when she was angry with him. Would it work for him as well? Or did he have to apologise? But he didn't _want_ to apologise, especially when he didn't feel sorry about his words in the least.

And not to forget, she had shot him a venomous glare when Professor Grubbly-Plank had announced that she expected them to work as partners with the same people they had in the first class, seeing as the average performance of the class had dropped since then.

And now in Potions, Pansy was getting on his nerves, with her continuous whining about her nose, which was still slightly swollen. He hated that Uncle Severus had made the two of them partner together. He knew that Draco hated the girl.

On the bright side, Severus had indeed warned the Slytherins of a surprise test, as he always did. And the highlight of the class was when Harriet submitted a finished paper. Severus scowled at the paper, but couldn't accuse her of cheating, seeing as she was sitting with that clumsy Longbottom. Merlin, that boy was such a buffoon.

As Draco tried to chop the vervain roots, Parkinson continued whining. The stupid girl was giving him a headache. Draco was sorely tempted to dump the boiling contents of their cauldron onto her head. Why was she convinced that the two of them were in a fucking _relationship_? He would rather date that Mudblood know-it-all than 'Pugfaced' Parkinson.

Draco finished the potion just as the bell rang. Parkinson, of course, had not helped in the slightest. He siphoned the shimmering liquid into a flask and walked up slowly to Severus' desk to place it. As he kept it down slowly, he caught a whiff of vanilla from behind him. He turned around to see Harriet Potter, clutching a bright blue potion.

She bit her lower lip, and the image did funny things to a certain lower part of his anatomy. She had painted her lips a cherry red. It hadn't been that colour during breakfast this morning. But even without the lip paint (Gloss was it called?), her lips looked beautiful.

And oddly, Draco didn't feel like pushing that thought away, the way he usually did. He was a full blooded male. It was his Merlin damned right to find things about the opposite gender attractive.

"Er... Thanks."

Draco moved forward, almost bumping her flask out of her hand. Her hair was loose, and it carefully framed her face on one side. Potthead looked... Beautiful?

"You're welcome, love."

The blush on her face made him feel like laughing. He was obviously getting under her skin. And it made him feel happy. And then she took a step back and glared at him.

"I'm still angry with you."

Before Draco could say anything, a sneering voice from behind him called out, "Ms. Potter, if you are done glaring at Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you place your abysmal potion on the desk and stop wasting my free hour."

Harriet nudged him in the shoulder on purpose as she walked towards the desk, and Draco rolled his eyes. As he walked out of the dungeon, he realised that he was screwed.

He was attracted to the Girl-Who-Lived. He was screwed. His plan to be an ally was now screwed.

He could only think of one word to sum up his annoyance.

"Fuck."

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 _'Draco,_

 _Meet me in our History of Magic classroom tomorrow? I have something to give you. So come a little early, say around 8:10?_

 _Regards,_

 _An ally who wants to be a friend'_

Draco folded the sheet and placed it inside his history book. It was 8:15 AM and Harriet still hadn't turned up. He'd received that note last night, and upon reading it had felt this indescribable feeling of relief.

"Hi! You're here!" came a chirpy voice from the entranceway, and Draco turned around to see her smiling at him, a wrapped package in her hands.

"What's got you smiling so much?" he asked her, feeling grumpy. He'd had to skip breakfast and eat an apple instead, and she had the audacity to smile so brightly _and_ turn up late?

She slipped into the seat next to him and started opening the package which was tied up with string. He couldn't help but notice how her nails were a deep shade of blue today. How would it feel to have those fingers entwined with his own?

He shook off that thought and watched her instead.

The second she had unwrapped the brown paper completely, she snatched an odd looking thing from her bag, and hunched over the book. It looked like she was writing something onto the first page of the book, at least, that was what her hand movement suggested.

His patience ran out five minutes later, and he leaned over to see what she was doing, and barely managed to hold in a gasp of surprise!

Though it looked like a slender, short wand, it seemed to be spewing ink onto the page!

She turned around to regard him, and quirked an eyebrow up as she asked, "What?"

"That thing you're holding. What _is_ that?"

"What? Oh. _Oh!_ This is a ballpoint pen, Draco. Don't tell me you've never heard of a biro!"

When he shook his head, she stared at him with her mouth open, before shaking her head and smiling a little too beatifically at him. _Why was she so fucking beautiful?_

"I didn't realise... This is a pen. Muggles use pens to write, just as we use quills. They don't need to carry around bottles of ink, though, and also, the ink of a biro doesn't run when we spill water on it."

"C-Can I hold it?" he asked, hating the way his voice broke.

"Sure! You know what, you can keep it. I have plenty more in my dorm."

She handed him the _pen_ and he fingered it gently. It said 'Faber-Castell' on the side, and had a tiny image of two fighting knights next to the name. It also said '0.5' and 'ball pen'. Draco stared at it, and Harriet chuckled.

They heard bickering voices coming from outside the room, and she grimaced.

"Damn, that's Mione and Ron. Stay here, okay? I'm sitting next to you today."

She then whipped out her wand, cast a spell _nonverbally_ at the bench and hurried out, rummaging for something in her bag.

Draco kept the _pen_ aside and looked at the book instead.

The title proclaimed its name to be ' _The Autobiography of Martin Luther King, Jr.'_ The cover had a picture of a dark-skinned man with his arms crossed across his chest. It was obvious that the man was a Muggle.

Curious, he opened the book to read what Harriet had written inside.

 _'Draco,_

 _It wasn't right of me to get angry the other day. I can't be angry at you for having years of prejudice ingrained in you. I can't get mad at you until and unless you have had a chance to see both sides of the issue._

 _I've decided to help you see both sides._

 _I've decided to educate you._

 _You teach me French, and I'll teach you history, science, literature – anything and everything that'll help you form a truer judgement._

 _Yours,_

 _Jillian P'_

He read over what she'd written once again, and felt oddly touched. He had no idea why she'd signed it as Jillian, though. He was about to start perusing the book, when the bell rang and people started shuffling in.

He stuffed the book into his bag. He didn't want to answer anyone's questions about why he had an obviously Muggle book on his table. If Harriet wanted him to read it, he'd have to come up with a powerful perpetual glamour charm to make it look like some uninteresting Herbology text or something.

Oddly, though all his Slytherin yearmates glanced at him, and Blaise and Theo even greeted him, no one sat next to him on the last bench. Even _Pansy_. The blonde girl simply smiled at him flirtatiously, before proceeding to sit next to Greengrass.

He looked up to see Weasley sitting next to Granger in the second bench. Harriet was nowhere to be found.

"Boo."

"Hello to you too," he said, trying not to smile.

"Impressed by my spell?" she whispered, grinning broadly.

He decided to answer her truthfully. "Very much. What did you do?"

"I'm not going to tell you, Drakie-poo. That's for me to know and for you to find out."

Draco bit back a groan at how her whispered words seemed to make his blood rush south. Merlin, he hated her.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harriet scowled at the two girls sitting in front of her and Draco.

If Parvati and Lavender heard her conversing with Draco, they'd try to overhear the whole conversation, being the gossipers they were. And she did not want to be the topic of hot gossip – well, at least more than the usual.

Binns had just finished taking attendance, and for some reason, the two girls were _not_ going to sleep. They seemed to be having quite a lively discussion on whose arse was cuter, Dean's or Zabini's.

Draco seemed to be listening to the discussion very carefully, though.

Harriet scowled at him, and he just grinned at her. And that made his eyes light up. Why were they so damn silvery?

She would stare into them all day if he'd let her.

He took out _their_ parchment and wrote something onto it.

 _'Why scowling like a banshee, Jillian?'_

 _'Why so keen on listening to those two? Jealous they're not taking about your arse?'_

 _'I don't need those two to tell me how cute my arse is, only you.'_

She blushed when she read what he'd written, because unknown to him, she had found his arse cute, especially in Potions yesterday. She'd wished she could see him in jeans.

' ** _MORON._** _'_

He merely chuckled at her severely underlined word, before taking up his quill and writing something.

 _'Why sign the book as Jillian?'_

 _'That's my middle name,'_ she wrote, wondering if she was telling him anything personal and important. She continued her message, _'What's yours?'_

 _'Lucius. Draco Lucius Malfoy.'_

 _'Hey! That's your dad's name! A friend of my parents told me that if I'd been born a boy, they'd have named me after my father, at least my middle name.'_

 _'It's a Pureblood custom, Jill.'_

She looked up at that, feeling confused but oddly pleased. Here was a nickname that wasn't masculine in the least! As much as she loved being called Harry, she had a feeling that sometimes people (Ron in particular) saw her as a guy.

 _'You know what? I think I like the name a lot.'_

 _'I'll call you Jill and you'll call me Foi, then?'_

 _'I think I'll stick to Drakie-poo, Drakie-poo,'_ she wrote, smirking.

When he read that, he stuck his tongue out at her and she laughed.

But of course, Parvati and Lavender turned around at that.

"Harry! You're sitting with Malfoy _again_?" asked Lavender.

"And why were you laughing?" Parvati asked, narrowing her eyes.

Praying that Draco won't open his mouth, Harriet said, "I cast a spell on him which froze his tongue. He can't speak for the rest of the day. I'm just celebrating," she replied, grinning.

"But why _are_ you sitting next to him?" questioned Lavender.

She so desperately wanted to slap that cow. Who was she to ask her such things?

"I'm tutoring her in Potions under Professor Snape's instructions. If anyone finds out about this, I will personally ensure that your beds become the place of your worst nightmares."

Parvati just gulped, while Lavender turned pale.

"Malfoy, you're talking?" asked Harry, trying to keep up the act. It wouldn't help if the bints realised she'd been bluffing.

"Obviously, Potter, your spell work is poor."

She scowled at him, but when the other two turned away, she grinned at him.

Pulling the parchment towards her, she wrote, _'Meet me in the library tomorrow? I want to tell you about the book.'_

 _'Sorry, I have Quidditch practice all evening. And I think you have yours all morning.'_

 _'Damn, I totally forgot. Thanks for reminding me. So then, where we can speak without anyone overhearing us?'_

 _'Want to meet tonight? At midnight, in the trophy room?'_

Harriet bit back a smile at that.

 _'And have you go tattling to Filch? No, thank you, Malfoy.'_

Draco threw her a grin at that, and something stirred deep inside her. Watching her former-rival smile and grin seemed to be melt her insides. And the needle of her imaginary balance seemed to madly swing towards the golden side whenever he smiled at her.

 _'I promise you, I won't. I can come up with more creative ways to expel you and Weasley now.'_

 _'It's nice to know you're not actively working towards destroying me.'_

 _'Personally, I don't think your hand can take another detention with Umbridge.'_

 _'Fuck you.'_

 _' Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?'_

 _'I think that's the only sentence you know in French, Drakie-poo.'_

 _'Fuck you, then.'_

 _'S'il te plait, NON! Tu es un cad méprisable.'_

 _'Look at your French improving at my mentioning a night with me. I really am a fantastic teacher.'_

 _'I'm going to look up "idiot" in the English-French dictionary, next.'_

 _'You do that. In the mean time, let me improve your vocabulary.'_

 _'Why does this sound ominous?'_

 _'Umbridge est un cochon.'_

 _'Does_ cochon _mean toad?'_

When he read that, Draco smiled broadly.

 _'Think of something large and pink.'_

 _'Umm... A pig?'_

Just then, the bell rang, and Draco stood up swiftly, whispering in her ear as he did so, "Meet me tonight at the Astronomy Tower, and I'll tell you."

Harriet tried to suppress the pleasant shiver that ran down her spine, and instead went to wake Neville up, who was sleeping with his mouth slightly open.

Why on earth was she even deigning to talk to Draco Malfoy, let alone meet with him at midnight?

* * *

 **Translation:**

What Draco said in French, as Fleur translated, is, _"Would you like to sleep with me tonight?"_

 **Note:**

I honestly forgot about this story. I wrote these chapters some three years back, and wow, all I can say is that I've grown as a writer since. If you're still around reading this, thank you so much. :)

I'll post the omake with the next chapter. Tbh, it's actually pretty silly. It's just as silly as this story.

I haven't replied to all the reviews yet; I soon will.

 **Review replies:**

justanotherlady: You are my 100th reviewer! :)

Guest: I loved the library scene as well. ;)

Zara: I'm not commenting on whom Draco may or may not be sleeping with in the future. ;)

Not logged in: I like to ship Scorbus only when they aren't related, haha.

Guest: I don't like to bash any characters, I instead try to write them as well rounded as possible. (I'm lying. I completely enjoy bashing Umbridge.) But I hope that answers your questions. :)

Guest: Nina Dobrev is unbelievably pretty. *fangirls* As for whether Draco will sleep with other girls, whether he'll sleep with Harriet at all, and whether he plans to get married at twenty one, you'll have to wait and see! :) But I assure you, HEAs all around!

And the five other guests, thank you! :D


	7. Chapter 7: Midnight Meetings

**So far:**

Draco, thanks to Po– _Harriet_ , has learnt of a marvellous writing implement Muggles use, namely _pens_. (Or in his words, a short slender wand which spews ink!) But they aren't friends – they're _allies_ , and anyone who says otherwise will meet the meaty fists of Crabbe, Goyle, or both. That's the price for slander.

Also, what's with this Muggle book Harriet's got him?

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 7**

 **MIDNIGHT MEETINGS**

* * *

When Draco reached the Astronomy Tower a little past midnight, he found the bloody Gryffindor Princess sitting on the parapet wall, her back towards him. Only a reckless Gryffindor would even choose such a place to sit.

The slight stiffening of her shoulders indicated that she knew he was there.

"Ah, Ms. Potter. I see you're out of bed. Being the rule-abiding Prefect that I am, I should be removing house points," he said, in a way of greeting.

He didn't expect the dazzling grin that she threw at him when she whipped her head around.

"You're five minutes late, Draco. I don't understand why you chose to stand next to the statue of Druid Getafix for ten whole minutes for apparently no good reason."

Draco narrowed his eyes at that. How did she know that he had dallied around for a while, so that he would be acceptably late to their meeting? Was she tracking him?

"And suppose I did do that, how would _you_ know?"

"I have eyes and ears all over the castle. Remember that, Draco," she said, flipping her hair back. She proceeded to spin around in an alarming fashion, throwing her legs precariously over the wall, before hopping off the parapet and coming to stand in front of him.

"If I were to hex you now, what would you do?" he asked, wanting to gauge her reaction to the unexpected question.

Unfortunately, her answer was prompt.

"I'd hex you back," she said, without even pausing for a second. No wonder she was in Gryffindor.

But then, even a Hufflepuff wouldn't take being hexed lying down.

"So, why did you want to meet here?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest. As if her full lips were not enticing enough in the moonlight, she had to draw his attention to her chest as well!

Draco cleared his throat in an attempt to collect his thoughts. He was here on a mission to ensure his future was safe. Now that The Dark Lord would most likely be staying at the Manor, he had to play it safe on both sides. Mother's letters at hinted at it, though as usual, nothing was ever said explicitly.

And Draco had to do this, just in case the Manor's snake-like houseguest _lost_ to the girl currently standing in front of him.

"Remember how I suggested that we get into an alliance where we trade favours without keeping track?"

Harriet interrupted him, "Which is a fancy and roundabout way of saying 'friends' because you Slytherins don't have friends; only enemies and nemeses."

He rolled his eyes, a habit he had learnt from her, before continuing, "I just wanted to make it official, by giving you a gift. It's a token of trust."

"Does that mean I have to give you something too?" she asked, tilting her head to one side. Some short strands that hadn't made it into her braid fell on her face. Draco quashed the urge to push them off her eyes. And the _green_ of her eyes... It was almost as if everything about her was meant to distract him.

"Uh, Draco?" she asked, her eyes wide, and Draco cursed himself for getting so distracted.

"Yes, you need to get me something too. Something that will easily remind me of our alliance."

"And the book I got you doesn't count?" she asked, scrunching her eyes, slightly sheepishly.

"It has to be at least a _little_ special," he said, trying not to sneer.

She tossed her head back and looked at him disdainfully. "Show me what you've got for me, then."

Draco dug into the front pocket of his robe, and took out the small velvet box. He tossed it to her, and she caught it effortlessly, from years of Quidditch practice. Merlin, how she looked on a broom. No one would ever look as graceful as her in the air, loathe as he was to admit it.

Harriet made flying look sexy. Her effortless grace, the way her robes whipped out behind her... Holy Merlin, no wonder he'd never caught the Snitch in a match against her - he'd been too busy watching her fly.

He watched her face as she opened the box gingerly. Her mouth fell open when she saw what was inside.

"These look bloody expensive!"

"They probably are, but I received it for free."

"Is it a family heirloom? Merlin, I can't accept it. I won't-"

Draco interrupted her in a low voice, "Not taking it means there's no alliance. It's a direct rejection. And you've rejected me once before, remember?"

She swallowed loudly, before looking him in the eye.

"No one's ever given me something this precious. Thank you."

He nodded, before saying, "Wear that in DADA class from now on. It'll hopefully cut down your detentions."

"What? How?" she asked, a look of disbelief on her face. It was then that it struck him that Harriet Potter had been brought up like a Muggle; she didn't know why these earrings were used.

"Usually Pureblood children are given pieces of jewellery which have runes inscribed on them. These runes warn the child when he or she is about to speak impertinently or rudely, thereby preventing the heir or the heiress from saying something undignified. It also teaches children to identify and learn what type of responses are considered impertinent, and what are not. For girls, it is usually inscribed earrings."

Draco liked how her eyes had grown wider with every word he uttered.

"How will it warn me?"

"Why don't you try it out on... Monday? That's when you Gryffindorks have DADA, right?"

"Hey!" she cried, probably to protest against his pet name for her house, but he cut her off.

"I don't want to see you in anymore detentions with that witch. You're only digging a bigger grave for yourself."

Harriet scowled and stuck her tongue out at him.

It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss her pouting mouth. Draco felt his nails dig into the flesh of his palms, as he tried not to do what he wanted to do.

"Could we sit down? My legs hurt."

"But not on the wall," he warned. He wasn't reckless enough to randomly endanger his life. He wasn't suicidal in the least.

"Fine," she huffed, before flopping onto the floor ungracefully.

When Draco looked at her incredulously, she smirked at him and said, "What, don't want to get your pretty boy clothes dirty?"

Before he could reply, she'd taken his hand and pulled him down.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

"So... Did you get a chance to flip through that book I got you?"

"It's a Muggle book, that's all I know," came his sharp response.

Harriet sighed, before launching off into a monologue about Martin Luther King Jr.

"Once upon a time, not-so-long-ago, in the United States of America, the fair-skinned Muggles, dubbed as the whites, looked down upon the dark-skinned Muggles. They were called negroes and blacks and other derogatory terms, which they did not deserve or merit. They were considered second class citizens, and did not have the same rights as the whites.

"They weren't allowed to travel in the same buses as the whites; they were not allowed to work the same jobs. They weren't even allowed to use the same lavatories. They had separate hospitals. And in court cases, a black witness' statement held no power. Blacks were only allowed to work as the servants of the whites. A while before that, these same blacks had been slaves and indentured labourers, that is, they were unpaid, bonded labourers.

"And then a man named Martin Luther King Jr. decided that he'd had enough of the inequality and discrimination. He stood up against the discriminatory society, and motivated a large group of people to stand up for their equal rights. And the book I gave you is his autobiography."

She took in the disgust etched on his face, surprised.

"Mal- Draco?"

"You mean my mate, Blaise, wouldn't have had the same opportunities as me?" he asked, his face paler than usual in the moonlight.

"Blasie Zabini?" she asked.

He nodded his head, looking at her warily.

"Yes."

His eyes widened, before he bit out harshly, "I knew it! I _knew_ these Muggles were barbaric enough to judge others based on skin colour! Blaise can't help that he was born with darker skin! Muggles are such uncouth creatures."

Harriet decided to deliver the final blow.

"Isn't that what you're doing right now? Discriminating against _Mudbloods_ just because of whom they were born to? They're as magical as you, a Pureblood, or me, a Halfblood. And yet, you and your Slytherin housemates put them down just the way the whites put down the blacks."

He stared at her, turmoil and conflict clear in his silver eyes, before he said tonelessly, "You are evil."

She gave him a grim smile, seeing how the conflict hadn't died in his eyes, before replying, "I think Snape will agree with you on that."

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco leaned back on his chair, dropping the autobiography he had been reading onto his study table. It was three in the morning, but what Harriet had told him had intrigued him. He was morbidly curious to find out about this strange practice that the Muggles had participated in.

He felt sick. Were the Purebloods no better than the barbaric Muggles when they segregated the Mudbloods? But what about the Pureblood theory that Mudbloods stole their magick from potential wizards and witches, which is why there were squibs in society? It was so confusing, and Draco couldn't help but feel that Harriet was wrong. After all, a belief that had been driven into him since he was in nappies, one of the fundamental principles of his life, couldn't be wrong, could it?

He needed to distract himself. So he closed his eyes and instead reflected on what had happened after the Gryffindor had told him about the book. Shortly after that, he had walked her to their usual point of separation, where they had almost been caught by Mrs. Norris. They hadn't had a chance to wish each other goodnight properly, but that was all right because they'd already decided to meet up tomorrow, on Sunday.

He'd wanted her to teach him how to cast spells nonverbally, and she'd wanted him to teach her a few more healing spells. She'd suggested that they meet in Binns' classroom, to avoid being found out by anyone else.

It amused him to know that she was as conscious about her social image as he was about his. And he knew that it was important to maintain appearances, after all, he couldn't have word getting back to his father.

Sighing absently, he stroked the _pen_ he'd been given gently, before opening his warded drawer and placing it there.

It was with a grimace that he went to bed after turning light in the holder off. He didn't want to introspect on what he'd learnt tonight; he wanted to avoid Harriet Potter for as long as possible, and preferably forever.

And yet, he couldn't wait to get started on nonverbal spells.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

"Make this feather float," Harriet said, gesturing to the snow white down feather she'd placed on the desk. She'd taken one of Hedwig's feathers, much to the owl's disapproval.

"Verbally?" he asked, the contempt clear in his voice.

 _Pompous brat._

"Yes, Mal - _Draco_ , you can't just start casting nonverbal spells. You need to start from a point that you're familiar with. So will you make the feather float now?" she asked, pushing some unruly strands off her face.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," he intoned clearly, and she watched as the feather soared up into the air gently.

She hopped off Binns' desk and came to stand in front of the table Draco was sitting behind.

"What was going through your mind when you said the spell?"

"Nothing," he replied, looking slightly confused.

Harry blew out a breath loudly and shrugged her robes off, dropping them onto a nearby desk. Despite it being the last week of September, it was terribly hot.

"Are you positive?" she asked. "Fine, I'll frame my question in a better way. Why did you utter that particular spell?"

"To make the feather float," was his quick reply, though his eyebrows were still furrowed.

"Right, so to repeat my first question, what was going through your mind when you cast that spell?"

"To make the feather float," came his easy response, the confusion in his eyes clearing up.

"Remember when Flitwick first taught us the spell? What was it that was so important about this spell?"

"The wand movement. And the pronunciation," he answered, after thinking for a moment.

Harry was impressed. The only reason why she could remember that class particularly well was because it had been on Halloween, a few hours before Quirell had let a troll loose in the dungeons... It had also been the day she and Ron had made Hermione cry. But anyway, it looked like Draco had a good memory.

"Brilliant. So there are two things for you to remember. First and foremost, your intention, and second the pronunciation."

"But we won't be casting the spell verbally. How does pronunciation matter?" he asked, a shrewd look in his eyes.

Harry perched herself on Binns' table once again before replying, "There's a reason why pronunciation matters while learning the spell. Because the spell is in often in a different language which is not English. It's usually Latin. A speaker of Latin wouldn't pay much attention to the pronunciation, but as non-speakers, it's important for us.

"Each word or part of the spell has a meaning. For example, the spell _Stupefy_ means exactly that. It's in English, and its meaning is to stupefy a person, that is, to stun them so much that they become immobile. Any spell can have its meaning understood by breaking it down into its root form. Paying heed to the pronunciation helps us non-speakers overcome the disadvantage of not knowing the actual meaning of the spell.

"Keeping up so far?" she paused to ask, and was glad to see Draco nod his head.

"While casting a spell nonverbally, you need to remember the _why_ of the spell, as in what you want to see happen. And just because you're not chanting the spell out loud, it doesn't mean you're not chanting it at all."

She hopped off the desk and walked up to him.

"You're still chanting it, only up here," she said, tapping his forehead twice. Draco turned his head slightly, and she was left touching his platinum blond hair. She tried not to suck in a breath at how silky his hair was, which was a surprise, considering how gelled it looked from a distance.

"So I'm just not saying the spell?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes and no. You won't be saying it out loud, but you'll still be saying it inside your head. And since you're not vocalising the pronunciation, you should focus on the nuances of the spell, how you'd actually pronounce it, all inside your head. And while chanting it _carefully_ inside, picture what you want to see, picture it happening. _Et voila_ , you'll be casting a spell nonverbally!"

"Was I supposed to have taken notes?" he asked, his eyes a little wide. Harry had no idea whether he was being serious or whether he was joking.

"Here, let me show you," she said, focussing on the feather on the table between them.

 _'Wingardium Leviosa,'_ she thought, making the 'gar' and the 'o' nice and long, just as she pictured the feather floating upward.

The look of astonishment on Draco's face made her smile, and she settled down on the seat right next to him to watch him try.

The first time, he forgot to do the wand movement. The fourth time, he uttered the spell verbally. The eighth time, he did the wand movement wrong. The eleventh time, he did the wand movement perfectly, but had no result. The sixteenth time, he mouthed the spell. The eighteenth time, he moved his wand so fast it slipped out of his hand and went clattering onto the floor.

It was obvious that he was frustrated, and truth be told, so was she.

She placed her hand on Draco's clenched fist and simply held it.

"Take a break, will you? And tell me what's going in your mind," she said gently.

"I'm doing everything you told me to do!" he spat, his eyes a dull grey.

"When you're about to cast the spell, what is it you're thinking?"

"That I want the feather to rise. And I focus on the spell as well, alright? I pay attention to how I'm pronouncing it in my head. And I do the bloody swish and flick. But it just doesn't work!"

"Then you've got the basics right," she said slowly, as she focused on a crack in the wall, deep in thought.

"Tell me, do you move your tongue inside while casting it even if you don't open your mouth?" she asked suddenly, an idea having struck her.

Draco's eyes lifted upward as he thought about it.

"Yes, I do."

"See, I think when you do that, your casting gets categorised as a verbal spell with zero volume, as opposed to a nonverbal spell where the idea of volume is moot. So try it again without moving any part of your body except your hand?" she asked, retrieving his wand from the floor with a simple _Accio_.

This time when he tried it, the feather lifted a few inches upward, and the smile on his face rivalled the one on hers.

And then he hugged her, unexpectedly.

It wasn't like Harriet hadn't been hugged before. Hermione had hugged her. Ron had hugged her (in awkwardly). Ginny had hugged her. Molly had hugged her. The twins had hugged her (misdirection was their middle name). Sirius had hugged her. Remus had hugged her.

And yet, this hug was so different from those hugs. It was probably the sheer unexpectedness of it.

She was stiff initially, not knowing what to do, before she carefully put her hands around him and patted him awkwardly.

"You're brilliant, see?" she whispered into his ear, before resting her face on his shoulder very _very_ carefully.

"You haven't been hugged much before, have you?" he asked in a low voice, his breath hot against her ear.

"Not really, no," she breathed, trying to relax against his chest.

"Everyone needs to be hugged every once in a while, Potter," he replied, tightening his arms around her ever so slightly, so as to reassure her and not cause her to panic.

The needle of the 'Draco balance' she pictured mentally was swerving to the left wildly. And she found that she wasn't opposed to the notion of liking him.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 _'Foie,_

 _Despite you being a berk to us Gryffindors yesterday during Quidditch, I've made a sort of schedule for you to practice through the week._

 _Monday - Levitating a feather (Yup, nothing fancy.)_

 _Tuesday - Levitating a piece of parchment (Which is slightly heavier.)_

 _Wednesday - Levitating a goblet_

 _Thursday - Levitating our DADA textbook_

 _Friday - Levitating anything you want; maybe even try a Wingardium Leviosa Maxima_

 _Saturday - Take a break, you silly Slytherin. Don't work everyday!_

 _Now that you've learnt the basics, do you want to spend some more time with me going over it, or do you want to try out on your own?_

 _Yours,_

 _Jill'_

Draco smiled at the piece of parchment he'd found on his pillow. It was obvious that Harriet had taken to using the house-elves as messengers like a charm.

But the process of relying on something else to pass on messages was getting a little cumbersome. He wanted a more instantaneous method of conversing, albeit one that did not draw the attention of others.

Draco rested his head on the pillow, staring at the roof of his four poster bed.

He knew he could come up with a solution. After all, in Harriet Potter's own words, he was brilliant.

(And he'd never admit it out loud, but hearing her say that had to easily be one of his most favourite memories yet.)

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **Omake #1**

Draco: (sings annoyingly) Hermes is so awesome, Hermes is the best. Compared to him, Hedwig's got nothing in her nest!

Harriet: Did you know that Percy's owl is also Hermes?

Draco: Wha- Who's that? (blinks)

Harriet: Percy? Percy Weasley? Hogwarts Head Boy in 1993? Four years our senior?

Draco: (Shouting) OH MY FUCKING GOD! MY OWL HAS THE SAME NAME AS A WEASEL'S OWL? THIS CAN'T BE ALLOWED -

Harriet: Jesus, calm down, Malfoy.

Draco: - I REFUSE TO ALLOW IT. FROM NOW ON, MY OWL, MY BEAUTIFUL EAGLE OWL, SHALL BE CALLED SEMREH. SEMREH, THE MAGNIFICENT!

Harriet: Sem- what?

Draco: (Tosses head haughtily) Semreh, The Magnificent.

Harriet: Spell that, would you? And what a wonky name.

Draco: (Sniffs condescendingly) It's Hermes spelt backward. I guess people with single digit IQs can't appreciate it.

Harriet: I have low IQ? Well, you have low EQ. You're lame enough to change your owl's name. What are you going to do about Hermes' footwear now? Make it out of D-L-O-G?

Draco: That's not a half bad idea. You're improving, Potthead. And FYI, it's Semreh, The Magnificent.

Harriet: There's no reverse for gold, Malfoy. I was kidding... Unless you plan to change gold to lead, kinda the opposite of alchemy?

Draco: Psssht, please. Lead? Are you serious? It'll be platinum, not some cheap element found on the roadside. And don't you forget, Mafloys never downgrade. They only upgrade. (Sneers)

Harriet: (Bangs head onto the desk) Sod off, Malfoy.

.

 _~ inspired by a review by the lovely Theodora Snowbird; thanks Dez; i'm lucky to have a friend like you ~_

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **End Note:**

On the Astronomy Tower, Draco didn't genuinely want to kiss Harriet – there's something else at play here. (and kids, this is called shoddy foreshadowing)

* * *

 **AN:**

Long time, no see, eh? o.O I'm back for good now. I've missed writing, period.

News!

 _One:_

I created a Tumblr page for this story: **noteworthyboredom . tumblr . com**

(No spaces; I tried to keep the URL as simple as possible.)

I've posted a **picture of the earrings** Draco gave Harriet there. :* Also, if you want drabbles set in this AU, or other character POVs you want me to explore, or simply look at picture collections I plan to make for every chapter, just ask me there – I've enabled anonymous asks as well :) As of now, I've made a picture summary only for this chapter.

 **Guest review responses** will be posted there. :)

 _Two:_

I've decided to focus on just one story for the next 3 months primarily, and go for extremely regular updates. I can't decide which story, though, so it's up to you, okay? Please go **vote** on my profile page, I'd be indebted to you.

 _Three_ :

200 reviews means another **omake** , and if you give me a silly prompt, I'll write something equally silly. ;)

 ** _Most importantly:_**

Thank you for sticking around, thank you for reading, and thank you for reviewing the way you do. I wouldn't be here if not for you.


	8. Chapter 8: Unintentional Lunacy

**So far:**

Harriet really loves the earrings Draco's given her. Of course, she doesn't know if they work, but what other place than Umbridge's class to check them out? He might call it an "allies gift" thing or whatever, but she personally thinks the gift is particularly thoughtful, and she thinks they're on the way to becoming pretty good friends. (Even if he says that they're only allies who don't keep count of favours.) She hopes introducing him to Muggle history and racial discrimination will help him get his world view set right, because she really does want to be friends with him, but that's only if he can move past his bigotry. Of course, she'll still have to get him something meaningful, because apparently an autobiography of a great leader does not cut it.

Also, is it just her, or does Draco have one too many migraines?

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 8**

 **UNINTENTIONAL LUNACY**

* * *

 _'Did you start reading the book?'_

 _'Yes.'_

 _'Did you get the schedule I sent you last night?'_

 _'Yes.'_

 _'Did you know that you're a moron?'_

 _'Yes.'_

"Draco!" she admonished him, smacking his left hand which was still on the parchment.

It was the way his name rolled off so easily from her mouth that actually woke him up.

According to Draco, whichever genius came up with the brilliant idea of having History of Magic as the first lesson of the week should have been lynched by the centaurs ages ago. And then that same genius should have been chopped into mincemeat and fed to the Giant Squid.

He bit back his irritation at the stupidity of his timetable and massaged his temples, his migraine having become exponentially worse.

"Are you okay? You look a little pale. Paler than usual, that is. Do you want to go to the hospital wing?" she whispered, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

He had no idea why Harriet Potter was talking in such a low tone. After all, he had placed a privacy ward around them, so that no one else could hear them talk. As she had rightly pointed out the other day, they didn't need Pansy, Patil and Brown besmirching their reputations.

"Just a head ache," he replied, when he noticed that she was still waiting for an answer from him.

"What about that potion?"

"I finished them all, Potter," he bit out, trying not to get annoyed at the black-haired witch sitting next to him. It wasn't her fault.

"Jesus, don't be such a bloody git! I'm just trying to help you!" she exclaimed loudly, scowling, before her face took on a sheepish expression. She looked around, biting her lower lip.

"Wait, I just yelled, and no one heard it?" she asked, looking around incredulously.

"I placed a charm, Harriet. Now please let me sleep," he begged her weakly, placing his forehead on the desk. A voice that sounded much like his father's reprimanded him in his head, _Malfoys never beg._

"Do you want to get out of class?" she asked him, and he turned his face to see her green eyes glinting mischievously. Oh, Merlin.

She rummaged around in that bag of hers, before holding up a what looked like a square sweet, wrapped up in wax paper.

"You have to trust me, okay? Remove this charm thing you've placed on us, and then eat this sweet. It's nothing serious, and you can get the whole day off," she said, that sparkle in her eye becoming stronger with every word she uttered.

He was about to say no, when he caught sight of the earrings she was wearing. They were the ones he'd given her on Friday. And somehow, before his brain could comprehend what he was saying, his mouth had said yes.

"Excellent! Now remove the charm," she ordered him, slightly bossily, before unwrapping the sweet. It looked suspiciously ordinary and was a dull purple in colour. She grabbed hold of his palm, which was on his lap, and pressed it into his hand.

"Once you leave the classroom, eat this other one. It's the antidote," she continued in her bossy tone, placing a completely wrapped sweet next to the purple one.

He wearily raised his head from the desk and waved around his wand while muttering the counter-spell.

And then he took a leap of faith and popped the nougat into his mouth.

The last thing he expected was for his nose to start gushing out blood. _His blood._ And _so_ much!

"Professor! Professor! Malfoy's nose is bleeding!" she yelled dramatically, even waving her hands a little.

Draco wanted to kill her in the slowest way possible.

"Drakie! My darling!" came a cry from next to Daphne, and Draco couldn't decide which was more painful – the sniggering Gryffindors, his bleeding nose, or Pansy's concern.

Binns, on the other hand, seemed to be stunned that there were actual students in the classroom, not just a set of empty desks.

"The hospital wing should be able to sort you out, Mr. Mason," said the ghost distantly, before going back to droning about some Modred damned war.

Har - _Potter_ shot him a triumphant look, and he rolled his eyes as best as he could do (considering the endless amount of blood that seemed to be spouting out of his nostrils) and left the classroom.

A couple of corridors away, he leaned against the wall and unwrapped the other sweet. It looked exactly like the previous one. Deciding to not over-think things, he tossed it into his mouth, only to find that his nose was now throbbing.

He tried to stare down his nose in horror as he felt the stream of blood become thicker. Cursing, he changed directions and started running. Hopefully, the school nurse would be able to sort him out.

It was only when he was nearing the hospital wing that he realised that his grey school vest had a large blood stain on it.

Potter was a lunatic.

But then, the pathway to hell was paved with good intentions.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harriet was pretty sure that Draco was highly displeased with her solution. She'd waited for him anxiously during Potions, but the blond had never turned up.

And now, he still hadn't turned up during lunch.

Ron, of course, had been singing her praises all morning, thinking that she'd tricked the Slytherin into eating one of Fred and George's creations. And the poor boy looked so gleefully happy (he still did) that she didn't have the heart to tell him that it had been no prank.

Hermione had given her a knowing look, and had left it at that. And _that_ had indeed surprised Harry.

She was digging into her mutton chops, wondering whether Mal - _Draco's_ gift would really work during Umbitch's class, when a familiar set of arms were slung across her shoulders from either side.

"So, Harry."

"Our sister from another mister."

"Is it true-"

"-what we heard-"

"-About Malfoy?" finished both of them at the same time.

"It depends on what you heard," she replied, grinning a little, as Ron started guffawing. And when he started choking, Hermione had to bang him on the back a few times. Harry suspected that the other witch was only too willing to hit the redhead.

"So what's the verdict?" asked Fred. Or was it George?

"I don't know, it worked the way you said it would. His nose bled," she replied.

"And that's why we're naming it our Nosebleed Nougat," said the other twin, grinning maniacally.

"Need I remind you that Ron _and_ I are prefects? If you distribute it in the school, we'll have to report the two of you and confiscate all your materials," said Hermione snootily, nudging Ron hard in his chest when he chose to not meet her eyes and stuff his mouth with a roll instead.

"C'mon, Hermione! I thought you'd be impressed by our creativity and intellect," said the first twin, waggling his eyebrows a little. Harry did not miss the pink tinge that appeared on Mione's face.

"Anyway, we ought to warn you. Malfoy may not have taken too kindly to the sweet," said the other twin, presumably George, seeing as Mione only tended to blush when Fred spoke to her.

"Why?" she asked, turning to each side to look at both the twins.

"The first years we tested it out on Friday said that their noses hurt and that the insides of their noses felt swollen for a few hours even after having the antidote," answered Fred.

"Malfoy's going to try and take revenge," she said, knowing that the blond would most likely throw a hissy fit the next she met with him alone.

"Or he could go complain to Snape," suggested Ron, and Harry made a face.

"I don't think he'll do either," said Hermione a little quietly, even as Harriet glared at the girl in warning. Thankfully, Ron had latched on to a new topic of discussion.

"So how is it Harriet gets freebies from you when _I_ , your _own_ brother, have to buy them?" protested Ron. Unfortunately for him, Hermione had been far from distracted, and had been listening to every word he'd spoken.

"Ron! You can't encourage their illegal business. They could harm someone or land them in the hospital wing! And then they'd have to go to Azkaban, or worse, be expelled!" she cried, smacking him on the head.

That phrase took Harriet back to their First Year, and she tried not to smile and give Hermione a reason to turn on her next.

"And that's our cue to leave," said the twins jointly, before ruffling Harriet's hair at the same time and getting up. It was only after the two of them had joined Angelina and Alicia further down the table that Harry realised there were two breadsticks missing from her plate.

She simply rolled her eyes and went back to eating lunch, as Hermione continued to lecture Ron about how dangerous non-Ministry-approved potions could be.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco couldn't sleep, having napped away the majority of the evening. He was still in the hospital wing, courtesy Potter. And Madam Pomfrey had refused to discharge him till his nose regained its natural colour.

Despite Pansy hovering about his bed for most of the evening, Draco had managed to catch up on lost sleep. All his Slytherin yearmates had visited him, alarmed by the amount of blood that they'd seen pouring out in class earlier that day.

Thankfully, they'd ensured that his reputation was not ruined by hexing any student they heard talking about it. Draco was glad that they'd thought of appropriate contingency measures.

But he knew that it must have looked serious, because even Uncle Severus had visited him. And when Pansy had told him how it was Harriet who had raised the alarm, Sev had narrowed his eyes and looked intently at Draco.

He had avoided his godfather's gaze and studied the Chocolate Frog in his hand carefully, wondering if Sev was going to use Legilimency on him any time soon. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey had ushered everyone out right after that, saying Draco needed his rest.

Draco shuffled in his bed, twisting to make his pillow fluffier.

The door to the infirmary creaked open slowly, before a figure darted across. Draco tried to stay still, wishing he had his wand in his hand.

"Draco?" whispered a voice, and he turned around to see that it was Harriet Potter.

"What are you doing here at this time of the night?" he asked, glaring at her, as he sat up.

"I brought you the antidote," she said a little excitedly, handing out another sweet.

"As you can see, Madam Pomfrey's fixed my nose."

"Yeah, but this new antidote will fix your nose properly. The earlier one apparently only stems the bleeding."

"What do you mean, Potter? The earlier _antidote_ made my bleeding worse. I would have bled to death."

"What! Of course not! Stop exaggerating, _Draco_ ," she said, as if to emphasise how she was still using his first name to address him.

"I'll eat this if you eat it and show me that it works," he said, not wanting to risk his poor nose once again.

"Just trust me, okay? It's the newest antidote. I collected it only this afternoon at lunch. Your nose will be pointy and pale once you have this," she said, waving a circular blue sweet in front of his face. It was surprising, how much he could see in the moonlight seeping through the window.

"Was the antidote always this colour? And circular?" he asked, a suspicion having cropped up into his head. His idea was completely plausible, though it would only prove that Harriet was yet another inattentive Gryffindor.

"Yeah, why?" she asked, puzzled. She proceeded to push him slightly so that she could sit down sideways on his bed, still holding out the sweet.

"The sweet you gave me earlier was purple and square," he told her carefully.

"Yes," she said slowly, as if speaking to a three year old. "That's the one which causes the nosebleed."

"No, _Harriet_ , the first antidote that you gave me was purple and square," he said slowly, speaking to her as if _she_ were the three year old, not him.

"Wha-" she said, stopping abruptly, her mouth hanging a little, as she paled. "Shit, I'm so sorry Malfoy! I must have taken out the wrong sweet in my hurry!"

"Promise me that this antidote won't hurt, Potter," he said coolly, not really accepting her apology.

"You're setting a pretty poor precedent here, Malfoy," she said, narrowing her eyes, before running a hand across her forehead and pushing her hair out of her eyes. "What happened to _'trust'_ and _'alliances'_?"

She gave him a sullen look before dropping her hand onto the gap between them on the bed. Draco gave a long suffering sigh before trying to pry the sweet out of her hand. He liked how her hand felt against his. They seemed to fit perfectly! But nope, he was supposed to be annoyed with her right now.

Swallowing dryly, he unwrapped the sweet slowly, not making eye contact with her. Just as he was about to place it in his mouth, she caught him by the wrist.

"Thanks for trusting me," she said, before removing her hand. Draco tried not to think of how warm her fingers had felt, but he failed miserably.

He briefly nodded his head to acknowledge her thanks, before finally putting the sweet into his mouth. He chewed it slowly and warily, half expecting his nose to become a fountain of blood once again.

Surprisingly, it felt like someone had placed a cooling charm on his nose, and he caught Harriet beaming at him, her eyes so wide and well, pretty, in the semi-darkness.

"Your nose looks ferrety again," she said, chuckling at her own joke.

Draco glared at her, and that only made her chuckle some more.

"Don't be like that, Drakie-poo," she said in a baby voice, before leaning towards him and pinching his cheeks.

Harriet bloody Potter had just pinched his cheeks like he was some tiny little wizardling or witchling! This was unacceptable!

But then she was leaning closer, and he could smell and fell her warm breath on his face. He could almost taste the peppermint toothpaste she'd probably used. And almost of their own volition, his hands went to her waist, as if to stop her from coming any closer. Or maybe it was to stop her from moving away?

Draco decided that the blue sweet had probably turned his brain to mush.

"Your face is pink, Draco. You're embarrassed, aren't you?" she asked, smirking. And that only drew his attention to her mouth. Which wasn't painted today but still looked attractive, in all its delectable glory.

The sound of heavy footsteps made them break apart, and Harriet's eyes were wide. When the door opened slowly, the black-haired Gryffindor threw herself under his hospital bed, as he buried his face into his pillow, feigning sleep.

The footsteps became louder than ever, and less than a minute later, Draco felt a hand brush the back of his head, brushing his hair, as the person sat down on his bed, right next to him. The brushing was gentle and consistent, almost soothing.

Draco started to relax, even feel slightly sleepy.

"Why don't you even like me, Draco? Can't you see I love you?" came the familiarly horrifying voice of his ex-sort-of-girlfriend after a while.

"I try so hard, you know? I nearly got caught by Filch coming here. I've even taken down notes for you for all that you missed today. And when I came to see you earlier, I know that you said you wanted to sleep just to get rid of me. I don't know why you keep pushing me away. You said you'll marry me when we were younger, but now you just hate me."

Draco felt something bump into his bed from the underside. It was probably Harriet having sat up from shock, because frankly, he was pretty shocked too. He'd been six when he'd promised Pansy that he'd marry her because Blaise had refused to be the groom in her silly tea-party game. How was Draco to have known that the bint would take him seriously?

Finally, after uncomfortably listening to ten more minutes of Pansy pouring her heart out, he was glad when she made to leave.

"I should go catch my beauty sleep, so that maybe you'll hate me less. And the shipment I placed for the rosemary scented oil is finally coming in tomorrow. I remember how you said you liked the smell of rosemary the other day. So hopefully, you'll partner with me instead of stupid Potter in CoMC. Love you!" she exclaimed, placing a wet kiss onto his neck, before literally running to the door. Draco had to stay still despite wanting to squirm and wipe that kiss off.

Finally, after the door banged shut, Draco rubbed at his neck with the bed-sheet and tried not to scowl as Harriet came out snickering.

"Wow, that girl has it bad," she said, sitting right next to him, taking the place of Pansy, not even waiting for him to move.

"She said she loves me," he said, choking on the words in horror.

"You should probably let her know gently that you're not into her, you know? If this continues, when you finally date someone seriously, she's going to be heartbroken. And then she's probably going to try killing your future girlfriend," she said, her voice serious, all of a sudden.

"Why are you even bothered about Pansy, Harriet? The girl literally called you stupid before leaving. And you're defending her?" he asked, having twisted partly sideways to look up at her face.

"It's just, well, she might be nasty and bigoted and just be a general bitch, but seeing her this way, it makes it all so human. Her _love_ for you sounds just as shallow as she is, but it's just – well, I feel sorry for her. Because she comes across as pathetic and desperate. She's trying too hard," she finished, and to Draco, it seemed like she'd struggled to find the right words to do so.

"Well, as my ally, what do you suggest?" he asked her lazily, quirking up one eyebrow. He tried to keep his breath stable, because her proximity to him and that sparkling in her eyes were making it very hard for him to inhale.

"I might have a plan, but it depends on the cooperation of certain other people," she said softly, as a smile formed on her face.

From his angle, Draco could see a dimple on her left cheek, and he couldn't help but want to touch it with his finger and feel the dip of the soft skin.

When he realised that she'd turned her gaze onto him, staring at him intently, he said, "Gold isn't a problem, if that's what you're asking."

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

By the time Harriet made her way back to her dorm under the cover of her cloak, her mind was racing. Would Fred and George accept an anonymous donation to their organisation? If they ever found out the money was from a Malfoy, would they forgive her for it?

As Harriet threw herself onto her bed in the darkness, a lump of fur lashed out and scratched her, hissing loudly, before jumping off her bed and jumping onto Hermione's bed.

"Crookshanks, you idiotic cat," she muttered, clutching her right arm which was burning. It wasn't fair. First she'd bumped her head so hard while hiding under Draco's bed, and now she'd been attacked by the cat.

"Crookshanks is a half-kneazle, not a cat, thank you very much. And need I remind you? He was intelligent enough to go rat out Pettigrew," came a stiff voice from the adjacent bed, and Harriet stifled a groan.

"Why are you up, Mione? Don't tell me you waited up for me after getting back from your Prefect rounds."

"Actually, that's exactly what I did. So what are you hiding from me?" she asked, and Harry was pretty sure that if Hermione had been standing, she'd have her hands on her hips.

"Nothing, Hermione, I just was brainstorming," she said, wishing the other girl wouldn't be so annoyingly nosy. Harriet only put up with Hermione's relentless questioning because she was her best friend (after Ron, that is,) but even then, the questioning could get tiring.

"About?" asked the other witch sharply.

"Giving Fred and George ideas for new products. And I can't tell you what it is, because it'll be a breach of confidentiality and such. Now, goodnight," she said in a hurry, removing her shoes and socks and tossing them onto the floor.

"If you're going to be like that, _fine_ , I'm reporting the twins to McGonagall," came her snarky reply, but Harriet ignored her. She knew that Hermione would never actually do it; she fancied Fred too much to do so.

But wait. Hermione was the type to do the _right_ thing. Harriet made a mental note to warn the twins about Hermione's threat.

Harry pulled the curtains around her and shimmied out of her skirt as she lay on her bed, trying not to remember how it had felt to have Draco's hands on her waist. If Draco had charmed Pansy similarly, then she couldn't blame the Slytherin girl for letting it get to her head. Draco Malfoy was a charming little snake, and it was all his fault that Pansy was head-over-heels for him.

Huffing a bit angrily, she loosened her braid and undid her shirt. For some reason, despite it being the last week of September, it was irrationally hot. It was only as she whispered a cooling charm nonverbally that she realised she hadn't checked with Draco on his progress.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and prayed to Merlin that she wouldn't have another nightmare.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **Friendly Reminder:** Draco's physical attraction to Harriet may not be entirely of his own volition... _~shoddy foreshadowing~_

 **AN:** First update of 2018! My grand plan was to update or post something or the other every two weeks, but I totally forgot. But then, laurenslines reminded me earlier today, and ta da, here we are! (Thank you! :D)

I received a prompt for an omake (200 reviews, cheers!) but that's turned into a full-fledged monster, so yup, still working on that. I can't wait for you to read chapters 9 and 10 of this story, because they're my favourite so far!

You've left me such wonderful reviews for the previous chapter, so thank you, thank you so so much. I'll reply to them tomorrow, but just know that each of them makes my day better.

Oh, have you ever wondered about an AU where **Draco Malfoy is the Boy Who Lived**? Mindfucking, right? If you're intrigued right now, do check out Theodora Snowbird's _Draco Malfoy: The Boy Who Lived_ because it has exactly that AU, and is fantastic to read. (You won't regret it, I promise.) If I could just put into words the way the story blows my mind, I'd be a better author. Also, its Draco/fem!Harry, so... ;)

Reviews are love, as always. :)


	9. Chapter 9: Unplanned Eavesdropping

**So far:**

Draco wants in on the Twins' business, and also wants a way to get rid of Pansy. Draco might also want to snog the living daylights out of Harriet Potter, his secret tutor, but that's probably because someone's doused him with a befuddlement draught. Obviously. Why else would he find himself attracted to that Gryffindork? And then there's that autobiography she gave him, which makes his head hurt from all the thinking he has to do. Are Purebloods really as terrible as these American Muggles described there? Is it too much to want the Yule holidays to be here already?

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 9**

 **UNPLANNED EAVESDROPPING**

* * *

"Boys."

"What's up, Harry?" asked Fred and George at the same time.

"Hypothetically, there's someone who's willing to invest in your company. And the person wishes to be a silent partner, but isn't willing to share their identity with you. Would you be interested in having another investor?"

The jovial look the two had sported earlier now disappeared, and a serious look overtook their features. Harriet recognised it as their 'business face'. Sometimes, she felt that the twins should have been sorted into Slytherin.

"And there are no strings attached?"

"Of course there are. The potential investor would like free products from you from time to time, and would occasionally ask for certain products to be developed – all within your capacity of creation. So what do you think?"

They exchanged a glance, before turning back to her.

"Hypothetically, we'd accept, for the time being."

"And if I were to tell you that this isn't really a hypothetical situation and there really is someone interested in investing?"

"How much is this person willing to invest?"

"To quote them, 'Gold is not a problem.'"

The twin on the left whistled, while the twin on the right asked, "And how will this person contact us?"

"I'll be handling all communication between you and that person," she said confidently, wondering if the arrangement would work out in the long term. Fred and George were bound to find out eventually, and when they did, they'd be baying for her blood.

"We need time to think, Harry," they said at the same time, as if they'd rehearsed saying that line together a million times before this.

"Wonderful," she replied, giving them a smile before hopping off the armchair and making her way to the portrait door. At least they hadn't outright rejected the offer.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco was serving himself some hash browns, when the owl post arrived that morning. After having the lousily bland hospital wing food last night, he was genuinely glad to be back in the Great Hall for his meals.

Hermes dropped a clumsily rolled parchment next to his goblet of pumpkin juice, surprising him. He hadn't yet replied to his parents' earlier letter, so it was obviously not them sending a reply through Hermes. Also, it wasn't really like them to send their replies on such scrap pieces; they preferred using parchments with the Malfoy letterhead and envelopes with the Malfoy insignia.

The familiar chicken scratch made him smile briefly, as he unrolled the letter. Or rather, note.

.

 _'They said they need to think about it. Meet me in the library this evening to figure out an alternative plan? I can't wait to do this!'_

.

Draco crumpled the parchment and stuffed it into his pocket before Pansy could lean over and see what was written in it. She had an annoying habit of trying to read his letters, despite his having told her on numerous occasions to not stick her nose into his affairs.

He looked over towards the Gryffindor table, as though he was just looking in that general direction, when he was in fact looking for a particular black-haired witch. And when he caught her eye, he nodded ever so slightly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Hermes is such a good boy, isn't he?" cooed Pansy, trying to stroke the owl. Draco tried not to snigger when Hermes tried to viciously bite Pansy's finger.

"Owww," howled Pansy, drawing away her hand, as Tracey laughed outright, prompting Blaise to smirk.

 _What was this?_ Did Blaise fancy Tracey?

This warranted further investigation.

He noted that Harriet was watching the whole thing, a sneer on her face. It was not an expression that he'd seen on her face much before, and though it made her look older and more refined, he couldn't help but think that he liked it better when she smiled genuinely.

"I could have nearly lost a finger!" exclaimed Pansy, though there was not even a scratch on the finger she'd thrust under his nose.

"How come you don't paint your nails different colours like some of those Halfblood witches?" he asked, regretting it the second the question had left his mouth.

Blaise was regarding him curiously, while Tracey simply sipped on some coffee, looking at him with a rather bored expression on her face. She was probably waiting for Daphne to join her.

"Because it's a ghastly Muggle thing to do to one's fingers. But if you want, I'll paint them for you, Drakie. You like green, don't you?"

Draco wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole, as Blaise let out a whoop of laughter.

 _Bastard._

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

"Hi partner!" Draco heard her call out to him, as she joined him under _their_ tree in the COMC class, as he stood behind the rest of the students. He was ready for the class, a hungry Bowtruckle held safely between his hands, while the others were still picking out theirs.

"Harriet," he greeted her politely, not wanting to take his attention off the writhing creature he was holding. He didn't fancy getting bitten by a Bowtruckle the way Po- Harriet had a couple of weeks back.

"Three more classes, and we'll be done with these blighters," she announced cheerfully.

"Two, if you don't count today," he told her, to which she hummed absently, staring at the Groundskeeper's cottage, apparently lost in thought.

Professor Grubbly-Plank started calling out instructions on how to properly feed a Bowtruckle, but Draco wasn't paying attention. He was too busy staring at the sapphire earrings that adorned a certain Gryffindor's ears, liking how the tiny stone sparkled whenever she moved her head.

He supposed the older witch must have finished her explanation, because Harriet started speaking once again, turning to face him completely. He was thankful to the deities and spirits that he could spend time with Harriet in public without drawing the attention of the other students. Grubbly-Plank deserved to be blessed by Morgana.

He was brought out of his musings when he found Harriet staring at him oddly.

"What?" he asked her, wondering if his hair was not slicked back. He wanted to run a hand through his hair just to be sure, but he didn't want to risk holding the twig-like creature with just one hand; he wasn't masochistic in the least.

"I asked you if you wanted me to get the rotting lettuce leaves to feed it," she said, her eyebrows raised.

"Uh, yeah," he said, blinking. Something was wrong with him today. He'd been off kilter right from the moment he'd woken up – he'd taken ten minutes to tie his tie, he'd spoken to Pansy without filtering himself, and now, he'd been too distracted by _her_.

It was all her fault, really. He'd been up the previous night, reading more of that autobiography she'd given him. His previous feelings of strong confusion from Friday night had returned. Were the Purebloods as bad as these 'racist' Muggles? But Pureblood theory was not baseless, was it?

He'd asked himself the same questions so many times, and he hadn't come to any satisfying solution. He was still stuck. He was only going in useless circles, and was no closer to getting mental peace. So whenever he could, he avoided thinking about the book she'd got him.

"Draco, you okay?" came a voice from his left, and he turned around to see that Harriet had a very concerned expression on her face.

"I'm fine," he mumbled not sure if he liked how she was looking at him. He liked that she _was_ looking at him that way, but he didn't like the fact that he possibly came off as being weak. He wasn't weak, by Merlin's beard! He was just having an off day.

But a voice in his head, suspiciously like his father's, reminded him, _'Malfoys are always at their best, come rain or shine.'_

Harriet was still looking at him unconvincingly, as if she knew something was wrong with him.

'What, Potthead, didn't your stupid Muggle family teach you it's rude to stare?" he spat out at her, but she scoffed and shook her head, not raising to the bait.

"You know what? I think you just need to sit down, take a few deep breaths and clear your head, while holding that Bowtruckle. And I'll feed it, and we'll get an 'E' on our practical work today, alright? Now sit," she finished, pulling at his sleeve's robe, settling down onto the ground.

Draco copied her actions, though more gracefully, and wondered if he'd been given a confusion draught by any chance.

Because as Father always said, Malfoys indeed didn't have off days. They were always, _always_ at their best, come rain or shine.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

"I almost thought you wouldn't turn up," she said, as he strode into _their_ secluded area of the library, dressed in emerald green Quidditch robes. Harriet didn't think her pride would take it if those slimy snakes won the cup this year; it was a good thing that Angelina was working them hard.

"I thought I'd go to practice directly and let you figure it out, but then I remembered that day when I waited for you after your detention and you never turned up. I'm just a better person than you are," he sneered.

Harry rolled her eyes, but felt her face heat up. She'd felt awful about leaving him like that, but he'd been the one who'd been so prejudiced against Muggles.

"Looks like you're back to normal now," she said instead, quirking her eyebrow, a facial expression she'd learnt from him.

"Listen, I really don't have time to speak to you right now. I would have sent you a note, but I figured this was quicker. Shall we do this tomorrow?"

Harriet wanted to be jovial and make some witty remark, but there was this tiredness in her which made her just nod her head wearily.

"Same time?" she asked.

"I'll see you later, Potter," he said in a hurry, as he glanced at the silver watch he was wearing. Maybe it was high time she bought a wrist watch as well? With the Hogsmeade trip this weekend, she could easily buy it. Hermione would probably know all there was to know about magical wrist watches!

"Won't someone find it odd that you're in the library in your Quidditch robes?" she called out to him as he was leaving.

The blond prat paused and turned his head partially, such that she could only catch only half of his smirk.

"I'll just take a Quidditch Through The Ages," he said cockily, before disappearing into the aisle of books. Harriet glared at the spot where he'd disappeared, till she realised that she had nothing to do.

By now, Harriet knew that keeping herself idle was the worst thing ever, because her mind often dwelled on the dark things that had happened last year in the graveyard. _That_ was why she clung to her soothing methods of acting like a child and making impulsive decisions – it was her coping mechanism. Maybe it was unhealthy and emotionally stunted, but it helped her get through the day, and that's what mattered.

Would Cedric have been alive if she hadn't done the decent thing and offered him the Cup as well? Would her (absent) selfishness have saved him? Was it really Voldemort's fault, or did she deserve a part of the blame too?

Feeling gloomy, she was finally got up from the armchair and was about to go down to the kitchens to get some tea and biscuits, seeing as Hagrid wasn't back yet, when she noticed that Neville was standing by a window, staring at the sun as it set.

"You all right?" she asked, wondering what the boy was doing in the library, without a book in hand.

Neville jumped a little, visibly surprised, before stammering, "N-nothing, Harriet. I was just thinking."

"Do you want someone to talk to?" she asked, feeling bad immediately.

Neville didn't really have a best friend as far as she knew. She was with Hermione and Ron. Parvati and Lavender were soul-sisters or something like that, Eloise and Fay were besties, as were Seamus and Dean. It wasn't like any of them ignored Neville intentionally, but she often felt bad for the boy. He had helped her with the Second Task earlier this year, even if it had been at Crouch's prodding.

"There's this girl that I think I like," he mumbled, his face turning a flaming red. Harry tried not to smirk and scare away her fellow Gryffindor; she wanted to know more, though she had an inkling about who it could be. So she looked at him patiently and tilted her head slightly to her left, to encourage him.

"I thought I could ask her out to Hogsmeade," he continued in a shaky voice, and Harry decided at that moment that her friend needed some tea and biscuits as well.

She dragged him out by the sleeve, hoping that the twins and Ron wouldn't mind her showing Neville where the kitchen was.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harriet didn't know what to do – Hermione and Ron had decided to visit the library with her, and she had no way of contacting Draco to let him know that the meeting was off. She felt so stupid; why had she had to announce that she was going to the library?

Ron had been sneaking off to practice Quidditch before making the team, and she hadn't really noticed, had she? So there was a very good chance that they wouldn't have noticed that she was gone – at least, Ron wouldn't have noticed. Hermione would have just shot a questioning glance, made some supposedly witty observation, and would have left it at that.

"Is there a problem, Harry?" asked Hermione, an eyebrow arched.

Ever since Ginny had taught them the spell to shape their eyebrows, Hermione's eyebrows were always perfectly shaped and it annoyed Harriet. She couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't as good at ordinary day-to-day charms.

"What? Nothing," she quickly said, before snatching her bag and making her way to the portrait door. "You coming?" she asked imperiously, pausing at the entranceway.

"Is it your time of the month?" she heard Ron ask, and smiled despite herself when she heard Hermione smack the wizard's head.

As the three of them made their way out, with Ron rubbing his head, he asked, "What was that for?"

"Ron, you _never_ ask that to a girl, alright? It's rude, disrespectful, mean and humiliating to women everywhere. You're attributing their annoyance to a bunch of hormones, and that's equal to trivialising their actual feelings. I admit that around their monthly period, women do tend to get moody, but that's just how their body is engineered. They can't help it, and the least you can do is not be so blunt about it, and instead make them feel better by respecting their views, regardless of what triggered that response. And for your information, Harry isn't on her period. I would know, seeing as she's my roommate. And she eats three chocolate croissants for breakfast whenever she's menstruating."

Harriet scowled when she heard Hermione's monologue's end, and resisted the urge to bang her head onto the wall. Knowing her luck, she'd get a concussion, and Voldemort would probably use it as an opportunity to flood her head with pain and terrible images.

"What are hormones?" asked Ron, thankfully ignoring the last part of what the bushy-haired girl had just said.

"Heavens, Ron, I forgot how uninformed wizards and witches traditionally are! I'm so glad you asked, because it's a shame, going through life without knowing the beauty of Science."

And as Hermione launched off into her next monologue, Harry couldn't but help chuckle lowly at Ron's expression of part distaste and part fear, as he listened carefully to a mini-lesson on how the human body worked.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco was in an unexceptionally good mood.

In Transfiguration class today, McGonagall had told him that he was now ready to Vanish kittens, while most of the Ravenclaws he shared class with were still struggling with their mice and snails. Moreover, the symptoms of that Confoundment spell that he seemed to have been under yesterday had disappeared. And most importantly, soon, very soon, Pansy would be head over heels in love with someone who wasn't him.

Life had never been better.

As he walked towards the library, he contemplated whistling, but then remembered what his mother had said – that only commoners whistled, not Pureblood scions.

When he rounded the corner, he bumped into a small figure.

"Draco! Are you going to the library?" asked Astoria excitedly, clutching some books to her chest. Draco knew her through Daphne, and though he knew that she was a sweet kid, he also knew that she had a massive crush on him. And Blaise exploited that to tease the younger witch mercilessly.

Generally, if he spoke more than ten words to her, she'd blush and run away.

"Yes, I've got some homework," he answered, to be polite. He had a feeling that if he were rude, she'd burst into tears. And wouldn't that be one hell of a mess to deal with?

"Oh, okay, bye!" she said in a rush, before stumbling away. Draco smiled broadly at the First Year's actions; she hadn't failed to amuse him, as usual. He wondered if Harriet would find his Astoria anecdotes funny. She probably would, seeing as she found the silliest of things hilarious.

But on the other hand, she might help Astoria come up with some ten year scheme – an elaborate plan to get him to marry the Greengrass girl in ten years' time. He shuddered at the thought of marriage. Who would want to get tied down to one person for the rest of their lives?

Unless it was an arranged marriage or a debtless alliance, there was no point, really. His parents' marriage had been a political one, to unite the Blacks and the Malfoys. But marrying for love? It was just not done, where he came from. The couple might grow to love each other, as his parents did, but basing a marriage on feelings rather than on the benefits it provided seemed a foolish and naïve thing to do.

Marrying for love was equivalent to willingly shackling invisible handcuffs – Morgana! He'd nearly forgotten to make himself invisible.

He whispered the charm, checking once to ensure every part of him had turned transparent, before entering the library. The sight that met him was not a very welcome one, though.

Potter and her stupid groupies were making their way through the Potions aisle, which was in clear view from where he stood at the doorway. Should he stay or should he leave, he wondered.

"What book are you looking for, Harry?" he heard the Weasel ask her as he neared them.

"Asiatic Anti-Venoms," she answered, and for a moment, Draco felt a spark of joy shoot through him. She was using the Potions book that he'd suggested to her earlier today.

"Snape didn't tell us to use that book," said the Mud- _Muggleborn_ , her shrewd eyes narrowed. Merlin knew he despised that girl. She was bossy, annoying and a pain to have as a classmate.

"He didn't," she answered coolly, drawing out the book from the correct shelf. Draco absently wondered if it would be a good idea to put his new nonverbal spell skills to use – he could give the know-it-all some hideous boils on her face or something like that!

"Then why are you taking it?" asked the other witch. Was she always this persistent?

"This is _exactly_ why I hate coming to the library with the two of you. But if I even mildly imply that I want some time alone, you'll throw me all these affronted looks – look, you're doing it again!"

The dark-haired witch strode out of the aisle, further into the library. Draco followed the two morons as they hurried to catch up with their friend.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

An hour had gone by, and Draco was bored. Fortunately for him, the chair next to Harriet had already been drawn, so he'd managed to slip in and sit quietly, without drawing any attention. Unfortunately for him, Harriet was a slow reader, which meant it was painful reading the Potions book with her. But it had given him time to routinely reapply the Disillusionment charm (nonverbally, ha!) and cast a Notice-Me-Not spell on himself.

Every now and then, the Weasel had asked some stupid question, and the Muggleborn had patiently answered him. How could Harriet put up with this guy? But then, Harriet too asked rather stupid questions herself, so he could definitely see why they were such bosom friends.

Under the pretext of writing down potion ingredients, Harriet had been writing him a note on a bit of parchment.

 _'Foie,_

 _I don't know if you came to the library today. I really hope you didn't, because my friends insisted on coming with me, and I don't think they'd have taken well to you sharing a table with them.'_

That was about as far as she'd got in the past forty-five minutes.

"I was wondering," said the other witch suddenly, "Whether you'd thought anymore about Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry."

"Course I have," said Harriet grumpily. He found the way her nose flared, for the lack of a better word, cute. "Can't forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us –"

Draco couldn't agree more. Umbridge was a hag, a hag from the fieriest pits of hell, wrapped up in pink robes, sent to Hogwarts in a basket with a pink ribbon tied to it.

"I meant the idea Ron and I had – Oh, all right, the idea I had, then – about you teaching us," said the other witch, pausing in the middle to glare at the redhead, who looked alarmed.

Wait, _what_? They wanted Harriet, _his_ personal teacher, to teach them as well?

But he could see the spark in Harriet's eyes as she thought about it. It was apparent that she'd given the topic a lot of thought.

"Well," she said slowly. "Yeah, I-I've thought about it a bit."

"And?" asked the other witch a little too eagerly. Even the Weasel seemed excited about the conversation. He was such a spineless bastard.

"I thought it was a good idea from the start," said the Weasel, throwing in his two Knuts. Ha! Draco already _knew_ that the other wizard was a spineless bastard.

"You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?" asked Harriet, her voice shaking a little.

Privately, Draco felt that it couldn't have all been luck. Going by how well Harriet had taught him nonverbal spell casting the other day, he thought she was a pretty brilliant witch – not that he'd ever tell her.

And if what Granger was telling was true – that she could cast a full Patronus (which he knew from taunting her in Third Year) _and_ throw off the Imperius, Harriet Potter was indeed one brilliant witch, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

The Gryffindor trio continued speaking and Draco listened on in horror as the Muggleborn spoke of Viktor Krum with ease. _She_ was still in touch with _Viktor Krum_? The same Krum whom he had tried and failed to befriend. Life was not fair!

At least, the Weasel seemed to be pettily jealous, and that restored Draco's humour.

"I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by me. I'm a nutter, remember?" said Harriet, after the Muggleborn had tried to make his _ally_ feel better.

Draco wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that there was one more person who would be interested in her lessons – him. But he kept quiet, lest he give himself away.

As the three of them decided to ask all interested students to meet them in Hogsmeade this weekend, Draco made a mental note to crash their get-together. Maybe he could coerce Harriet into teaching him whatever she taught the others?

It wouldn't do to let others get better than him at DADA. He was one of the best, and he had no intention of changing the status quo.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harry walked quickly to the owlery, her mind whirring with the possibilities of what was about to happen. How would Umbridge react if she knew such classes were going on? She wouldn't take well to it, but what limit would she go to to stop the whole thing?

She absently rubbed the scar on her left hand as she entered the owlery.

Hedwig hooted and flew down to greet her, perching herself on Harry's outstretched arm.

"Hello, girlie, how are you?" she mumbled gently to the snow white owl, patting her head carefully. Hedwig hooted twice in response, and Harriet took that to be a _'I'm fine Harry. I hope you are too. Do you have any treats?'_

When she held out a leg for Harriet to tie her note around, the witch laughed.

"No darling, I'll be using a school owl today."

The owl hooted angrily and flew away, as if offended. Harry sighed resignedly. Hedwig was as temperamental as her. Maybe that's why she and Hedwig made such good friends. Would Draco be angry that she hadn't informed him earlier? Would he –

Harriet let out an undignified shriek as Draco's arrogant owl, Hermes, flew towards her head, from where he'd been perched, high upon the rafters.

In contrast to her own high shriek, she heard a voice from behind her calmly say, "Hello, Hermes. And hello to you too, Harriet."

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 **AN:**

I started a new femHarry/DM story called _A Rose By Any Other Name_. It's a soul-swap story. In other words, Harriet wakes up in Draco's body and vice versa, one fine morning. It's light-hearted and reads like a romcom. (No angst, promise.) I'd love to hear your thoughts on it.

As always, reviews are love!

Thank you Rori Potter, leopardblack, C'Riverblade, GenderBender25, CrimsonSurvivor, godess bubbles, roro781727, AnnaMerteuil, Ern Estine 13624, Nataly SkyPot, Guest, DreamSlytherin17710, myafroatemydog, L YNAL, horsegirl2784, Theodora Snowbird, Daddy Cool, Bella, patronuswriting, Guest, Daughter of Trickery, Guest, YomuHime, Guest, regulusirius and dhamann7878 for your reviews.

Your opinions matter to me!


	10. Chapter 10: Staged Fights

**So far:**

People always say that eavesdroppers never hear things they like, but Draco has proof that this adage is untrue. He'd spied on Harriet and her posse, and learnt that they plan to keep special DADA classes. So essentially, he has only one thing on his mind at the moment — to get into that class one way or another. But he can't directly ask Harriet, can he? Then she'd know that he'd spied on her, and she'd want to break their alliance, and that's one outcome Draco is strongly against.

The only outcome that's acceptable is that he gets the special tutoring too.

* * *

 **NOTEWORTHY BOREDOM**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 10**

 **STAGED FIGHTS**

* * *

 _'What in the world?'_ thought Harry as she whirled around to face the owner of that irritatingly calm and deep voice.

"Did you follow me here?" she asked him, partly annoyed at having been so inattentive that she hadn't realised he was standing right behind her. And by right behind her, she meant literally behind her, so much so that if she took a step, she'd bump into him.

His eyes were trained at her knees, but he looked up with an arrogant smirk.

"I was just coming to see Hermes, get him to deliver a letter," he said, proudly petting his owl's head, as the aforementioned owl hooted in an equally proud voice. Where was Hedwig when she needed her? Why wasn't the snowy-white owl by her side, giving her company?

"Who are you writing to?" she asked, belatedly realising that they weren't actually friends. Maybe he'd answer her intrusive question and not leave her hanging?

"I don't really have to tell you, but since you asked, I'm not writing to anyone."

"What do you mean? You said you wanted a letter delivered?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. The Slytherin was lying, obviously. It was just a feeling, and yet, there was no visual cue that he was indeed lying.

"I never said I wanted a letter from me delivered. I want a letter to be delivered _to_ me."

"Oh," she said a lot more quietly. It seemed like he was telling the truth and yet she felt so jumpy. It was the way his grey eyes were gleaming this strange shade of silver in the torchlight, like he knew something she didn't.

"I'm pretty sure that the crumpled parchment in your hand is for me," he said, prying it out of her hand before she could say anything. Had his fingers always been this firm? Oh Merlin, what if she let him catch the Snitch this year because she was paying too much attention to how elegantly long his fingers were?

She was so screwed.

"Hmm," he hummed, as he finished reading the note.

"So it's okay?" she asked in a small voice.

"Maybe if you changed your answer to _oui_ for one of my earlier questions, I could let this slide," he said, smirking in that superior way of his.

"You berk!" she cried, shoving him in the chest playfully. Hermes hooted at her warningly, prompting his owner to chuckle.

"Control your owl, Malfoy," she said, as Draco continued chuckling.

"Go home and keep hooting till Mother packs some éclairs for me, darling," he said in a tone she'd never heard him use before – it was gentle and loving. Harry was sure that if he were to use this same voice in their COMC classes, any creature would be eating out of his palm.

As Hermes took off through a nearby window after throwing her a malevolent glare, she found herself staring at Draco's features. The sharp angles of his face were a lot more subdued in the soft light, and he looked like one of those statues in Mione's book on Rome, what with his alabaster skin playing to the effect.

"Are you all right?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.

"Just thinking about something I saw in a book," she replied quickly, before beginning to make her way towards the entrance. "Coming?"

"Sure," he said, tucking his hands into his trousers' pockets. Harry wished she could do that with her skirt pocket and not come across as silly. She'd have probably also whistled if she could, but whistling was yet another of those things that she hadn't gotten a hang of.

As they descended the stairs, she asked, "How are the nonverbal spells coming along?"

He quietly took out his wand and waved it, producing a tiny ball of golden red flames.

"Hey, I can do that too," she said, and quickly cast Hermione's bluebell flame charm.

Each orb shimmered and glowed, and Harry felt they represented contrary things, like fire and ice, the sun and the moon, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, perhaps?

Draco moved his wand towards the left, and his ball of flame floated towards her. Of its own volition, her wand flicked her ball towards its right, towards Draco's ball. She sucked in a breath as the blue flame and the red flame merged together to form swirling patterns of spiralling colours.

The sharp juxtaposition of the colours was searing, and she had a feeling she'd never forget the sight.

"It's lovely," she breathed, as they stood there in the partial darkness, close to each other because of the narrowness of the stairs.

"It's beautiful," he corrected her, and as she turned to meet his bright grey eyes, she distantly heard warning bells ringing in her head.

She ignored them.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

The next morning, as Draco got dressed in his room, he tried not to replay the dream that he had had. The one where Harriet was wearing a really short skirt, showing off her toned legs. It didn't help that that image had morphed into one of her riding her bloody Firebolt, leaning languorously against the sleek wood, winking saucily at him.

It had been a pain to wake up with such a raging hard-on. Why was that infuriating Gryffindor messing with his head so? She was an _ally_. She was someone whom he intended to use for information and protection.

She was not girlfriend material.

A quick shag was out of the option as well, seeing as that would ruin the unofficial alliance they had.

Merlin, he was screwed.

He glared at himself in the mirror after tying his tie, reprimanding himself for allowing himself to sexualise the annoying 'saviour'. From now on, he was going to treat her like a boy, and see if all these inappropriate images would disappear.

The door opened after a brief knock and Gregory ambled in, a menacing grin on his face.

"I just heard from Avery that Gryffindors have booked the pitch for practice this evening. Do you want to go see it?"

Why was fate such a cruel mistress? Taunting the idiots of Gryffindor was one of his most favourite pastimes ever. And yet, he'd have to say no because of that stupid dream he had had. Blaise would label it as a 'fantasy', as opposed to 'dream', if he were to ever learn about it.

So in an effort to be prudent, Draco replied, "Sprout's homework is due tomorrow, and I can't waste time watching those morons blunder around the pitch."

Gregory grunted something which sounded like approval, before leaving the room, swinging his bag up and down.

After styling his hair carefully so that it sat back on his head, Draco made his way out quietly, praying to Merlin, Morgana, and every other spirit out there that he wouldn't run into Pansy Parkinson.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

It was the last COMC class of the week, and Harriet was tingling with anticipation. The note that she'd got during breakfast had promised a bit of drama at the end of today's class.

.

 _'Jill,_

 _Things are getting too quiet; which isn't normal for us. Expect some drama and loud words in class today, after we return the Bowtruckles. And whatever happens, just go with it._

 _Yours,_

 _Foie'_

.

As Harriet stood up with the Bowtruckle in her hand, Draco nodded his head subtly at her. It took everything Harriet had to not smile broadly – she'd be calling him Ferretface soon! And almost as though Draco sensed the joy inside her, he smirked at her, and she smirked back.

As she passed the spot where Neville and Parkinson were working together – that is, Pansy was bossing over Neville and the Gryffindor was trying his best to be polite when his annoyance was clearly written in his eyes – their Bowtruckle jumped from Pansy's arms and came running towards Harry.

"Look what you did, you dunce! You let it run away!" shrieked Pansy.

Before Harry could say anything, the Bowtruckle in her hands jumped as well, and the two Bowtruckles ran towards Hagrid's hut. Thankfully, she heard a familiar voice cast the Immobilius spell twice, and the two sticklike creatures stilled, their arms still holding one another.

Harriet turned around to flash a grateful smile to Hermione, and was delighted by the wide smile Mione treated her with, when Draco decided to ruin the moment by choosing it to start their dramatic fight.

"You can't do a single thing properly, can you, Potthead? You always have to muck things up."

"At least I'm willing to do some work, Ferret, unlike you, always taking credit for others' hard work."

"I never said I was a fucking 'Puff, did I, Scarface?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Harry saw Ron come up to stand by her side.

"There are few things worse than being a slimy snake," said the redhead.

"And one of those few things is being a Blood Traitor, Weasel," said the pale blond, sneering. And just for a moment, Harry felt that nothing had changed. The malevolence in his eyes seemed a tad too real. But hold on, was that a tinge of amusement she detected in his eyes?

To be fair, she too was enjoying it, especially now that Pansy had come to join Draco.

But _wait_.

What was this?

Why was Neville coming to join their little 'fight'?

"A-at least the Weasleys aren't supporters of inbreeding within the Sacred Twenty-Eight," said the Gryffindor, and Harriet tried not to gape.

Though no wand had been drawn so far, the thing was drawing a lot of attention. Neville was now standing on her other side, his shoulders stiff, and Hermione had joined them, standing by Ron's other side. And Mal- Draco and Pansy had been joined by Crabbe and Goyle.

"At least none of us are the product of a mentally unstable parents," said the Slytherin girl viciously, and it set off Neville, as he lunged for the girl's neck. Harry knew why – she'd seen it all in Dumbledore's Pensieve last year. But she couldn't let her wrath show on her face – she'd promised Dumbledore that she wouldn't tell anyone, not even Neville, that she knew the truth about his parents.

Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Harriet, and Ron had to hold him back; Neville was positively shaking with fury.

"Is everything all right here?" came the authoritative voice of Grubbly-Plank as Harriet felt her grip on the boy's arm slipping ever so slowly.

"Just an argument between friends, Professor," chirped the girl that Hermione had now taken to sitting with during History of Magic.

And then Neville shrugged off all four of them and socked Pansy in the jaw.

Pandemonium reigned, as Lavender shrieked that the Bowtruckles had broken loose.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

 _'Yesterday's results were a little unexpected.'_

It was a moment before his ally replied, _'It took a turn for the worse. Can't believe Grubbly-Plank gave us extra homework as punishment.'_

He tried not to sound mean as he wrote his response in his considerably much more legible handwriting.

 _'It's one less detention to go into your considerably bulky detention folder.'_

 _'Bugger off, Malfoy.'_

For a second, Blaise moved his head and Draco, worried that his friend was waking up, turned over the parchment in a hurry, not wanting to be caught red-handed talking to his supposed enemy.

The moment passed, and Blaise went back to sleeping peacefully. Draco let out a sigh of relief and wrote out his reply.

 _'Are you free this evening?'_

 _'What for? Trying to seduce me?'_

 _'You're not my type Potter. And before you get jealous, your female friend is not my type either... But that voluptuous witch in your dorm with the name of a flower? I'd tap that any day.'_

Draco knew he was provoking her on purpose. Just the other day, Pansy had told him about how Lavender Brown had called Harriet a liar. Pansy had got the bit of gossip from that Ravenclaw Pureblood Diane Kinsley, who'd got it from Padma Patil, who'd got it from her twin Parvati Patil, who was supposedly Brown's best-friend.

 _'_ _I didn't know your type was cows, Malfoy. Didn't think you were into bestiality.'_

 _'Didn't you hear, love? Blacks are into all sorts of kinky stuff. Your godfather is a Black, for Merlin's sake.'_

Draco watched in amusement as Harriet huffed a little at that, before writing her reply. He'd never tell her this, but he enjoyed these little chats they had on parchment, this note passing business of theirs.

 _'How do you know who my Godfather is?'_

It was time to give her her first shock of the day. Draco had spent last night planning out how exactly to get himself invited to that 'special' class of hers. It was the first time since she'd 'gifted' him that ruddy book that he'd spent his night doing something other than poring over that provocative piece of literature.

This plan he'd hatched involved blatant manipulation. And step one was to shock her beyond measure.

He took his time composing his reply.

 _'My parents were to be your guardians, by the Ministry's laws. Your parents had left Sirius Black in charge of your welfare, and since he was in Azkaban, your guardianship was passed on to the next able member recognised as a Black, i.e., my mother. But Dumbledore stepped in and apparently said that your mother's Muggle sibling would love you like blood._

 _And hence, you missed out on your chance to be a Malfoy.'_

Predictably, Harriet's face went pale, and her mouth parted. She turned to look at him, her emerald green eyes blank and unreadable. She looked stricken, and it seemed to Draco that she was looking for some falsehood in what he'd written, as if by staring him in the eye, she'd be able to decide that he was a liar.

When she wasn't able to, she cast her eyes down towards the parchment, her eyebrows furrowing. After blinking at his words a few times, she moved the parchment away and rested her head on her fingertips, leaning forward towards the desk.

Draco felt mildly guilty that he was the reason behind making her have a panic attack, but the guilt was only mild, and he couldn't be so squeamish about something this small.

When the bell rang, she was the first one to get up, turning her empty eyes onto him, before grabbing her bag and fleeing the classroom. Draco hastily caught hold of the parchment and placed it between his history books, and took a deep breath, before waking Blaise up.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Harriet had chosen to skip lunch, and was instead holed up in her dormitory, with the curtains shut tightly around her so that there wouldn't be as much sunlight streaming in.

She'd lied to Hermione and Ron that she had yet another one of those headaches, and they'd been concerned that it could be because of Voldemort. Ironically, it was the first time that year that she'd had a headache that hadn't been a result of that murderer's emotions.

She was furious with Dumbledore, the way she had been for most of the summer. There was no guarantee that living with the Malfoys would have been better than living with the Dursleys, but they wouldn't have tried to stuff her into a cupboard, right? They wouldn't have starved her, leaving her malnourished over the years. And she would have had a misguided Dobby looking into her welfare.

True, there was no guarantee that Draco wouldn't have taken up the mantle that Dudley played – as her primary bully – but she couldn't help feeling that things could have been much better; would have been much better.

So it was _Dumbledore_ who had decided whom she ended up with. And what gave him the authority to make that decision? He _had_ to have known that Sirius was innocent, right? Why hadn't he tried to get Sirius a trial in the first place?

A voice inside her head whispered, _'You need to show him his place, that meddling old fool.'_

"Miss? Miss Potter?" asked a squeaky voice timidly, and Harriet warily opened her four-poster's curtains just a little, so that she could peek out.

"I is Louisie. I has message from Master Malfoy."

Harry opened up the curtain a little more and took the note that the house-elf was holding out to her.

.

 _'Harriet,_

 _Are you fine? You rushed out, and I didn't know if what I'd said upset you. That wasn't my intention – to hurt you – so I apologise._

 _Do you want to talk to me later? Maybe you just need someone to lend you their ears; someone who promises to not judge you._

 _Regards,_

 _D.M.'_

 _._

When Harry looked up to give the elf a message in response, she realised that the house-elf had gone away, probably back to the kitchens.

Hurriedly, she took out a pen from her stash in her bedside table's drawer and replied to him on a scrap piece of notebook paper. Usually, she'd use the other side of the sender's parchment to reply to short messages, but this was different.

Something about the note made her feel nicer, happier, and she wasn't relinquishing her hold on it so soon, not when it felt like Draco Malfoy actually cared for her.

.

 _'Draco,_

 _I'd like that. Five pm in classroom 3C in Turris Magnus? We'll brush up on your nonverbal skills and go in for more powerful spells. Or maybe there's something else in Defence you want us to go over together?_

 _-Harriet_

 _P.S. Thank you.'_

.

Focussing on the person she wanted, she summoned her favourite house-elf friend, Dobby.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Draco leaned backward, and rested his head tiredly on the tiny back-rest of the bench he and Harriet were sitting on.

For the fees that Hogwarts collected, they could at least try and provide better furniture in the classrooms. But to be fair, this was a relatively unused one. Not even horny teenagers came to use this room, seeing as it was a few floors under McGonagall's office.

He turned his head to the left to see that Harriet had copied his position, but was busily staring at the ceiling. Right after coming in exactly three minutes late, she'd started off on a list of First and Second Year spells she'd compiled.

Draco had managed to turn his matchstick into a needle and vice versa, and had thought he was doing brilliantly, till Harriet bossily announced that that was only the beginning and they had over a hundred spells to go through. For now, they had finished about twenty percent of the list, and personally, Draco thought it was great progress. She didn't need to know that he could cast the Disillusionment Charm nonverbally.

It was now time to execute step two: Lend a ear and offer comfort.

"Is everything okay with you?" he asked her quietly, causing her to turn her face to face him.

"Yeah, it's nothing. I'm just a bit angry," she said, rolling her eyes. And for some reason, he didn't like how lifeless those eyes looked.

"At?" he prompted her, trying to get her talking.

"At things. I didn't know Dumbledore decided who I'd live with, that he was the one who'd tie me down to the Dur– you know what? It doesn't matter," she finished, turning her head back sharply to glare at the ceiling.

Her hair fell away a little as she turned, and Draco noted that she wasn't wearing any earrings. That was good, wasn't it? She'd be open to telling him everything.

"Are you saying you'd rather have lived with my family than with your Muggle family?" he asked, curious now. There wasn't any chance that she _hated_ her family, right? He'd always thought she was a privileged little princess, having her way in everything – right from Quidditch to her fame.

"Just because someone's related to you, it doesn't make them family," she said, once again turning to face him. This time, her eyes were flashing, and she looked furious.

And for a moment, he could see the person who'd taken on The Dark Lord. She was no longer a small girl goofing around, making a mess of things. She had the aura of someone who was a force to be reckoned with.

"Your _relatives_... Tell me about them," he said gently, glad that even though his plan hadn't been based on the purest of intentions, he was still there to lend a ear. She seemed to be struggling with what she wanted to say, and that made him wonder – was she uncomfortable with telling _him_ , or was she uncomfortable with telling anyone, period?

At long last, she said, a sneer twisting her features, "Let's just... let's just say it's a surprise I'm not a psychopathic Muggle hater."

In the distant future, Draco would recognise that conversation as the one where his prejudices against the Girl-Who-Lived crashed and burned.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

It was past midnight, and Harriet was still in the common room, struggling to write a letter. She'd had a long conversation with Hermione and Ron about Sirius – all three of them had agreed that if she told him about Umbridge, he'd definitely try to break into Hogwarts. And somehow, without her mentioning it, those two had known that she was upset over the stony silence her godfather had maintained.

Ron had brought to light an interesting point, one which Hermione had said warranted further research – that since Sirius went to Azkaban at twenty-two, his was mentally still stuck at that age; that he only had the emotional capacity of a man in his early twenties, one who'd seen great pain and suffering in his childhood.

Hermione had been very impressed by Ron's observation, and Ron had blushed so hard that his face had rivalled his hair in redness. Harriet had long suspected that Ron liked Hermione, but if he didn't want to tell her, she wasn't going to pry.

It wasn't as though she'd told him about what she'd learnt earlier that day.

She paused to review the letter she'd just started, and unsatisfied, crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the fire by which she was sitting.

How was she _supposed_ to start (again)? Was she supposed to _forgive_ him for taking off in a huff? Was she supposed to ignore all that as if it never happened and just start off randomly? And what if Sirius wanted to know how she found out about the Malfoy thing? She knew he'd blow his top if he ever found out that she was spending so much time with Draco.

After all, when Ginny had been regaling Sirius with stories of Harriet's social life, she had mentioned multiple times what a git Malfoy was.

And speaking of Draco, she felt so guilty. He'd been so attentive that day after their 'session' and she'd begun to tell him something that she'd never told even Ron and Hermione before – her life with the Dursleys. She hadn't told him much, to be honest, just that they were a bit neglectful, but that was a lot more than what she'd told her friends, her _real_ friends.

He'd listened to her without being visibly judgemental, and he hadn't asked probing questions. It had been relieving, sharing that small part of her soul with someone. But later, when he'd asked her if she wanted to meet him at Tome and Scrolls in secret tomorrow to help him pick out books on nonverbal magic, she'd been forced to say no.

And when he asked why, she'd lied and told him that she planned to spend the entire day with Mione and Ron. It wasn't as though the meeting at Hog's Head was something she could have just casually invited him to. Draco had then pursed his lips and said that it was fine, seeing as they weren't friends any way.

And that made her feel bad.

And now, she didn't know what to tell Sirius. Everything that had happened today was gnawing at her mind, making focussing a struggle. She grit her teeth and put her quill to parchment, deciding to write the first thing that came to mind, unfiltered.

.

 _'Dear Snuffles,_

 _It's been a while. I'm still angry about our previous fireside conversation, but I miss getting letters from you. Christmas is going to be amazing, I promise. There are so many things I want to ask you, but the channels of communication aren't perfect at the moment._

 _I want to spend all my summers in London from now on, and never go back to Surrey. Would that be okay with you? If it is, then we can confront the person who put me in Surrey in the first place._

 _I can't wait to see you; it's only three more months. Stay safe, and don't walk your dog too much. he needs to learn to stay at home by a warm fire, at least till the weather gets better._

 _Love,_

 _Prongslet'_

.

She decided to not risk sending the letter from the castle. She would ask Hedwig to meet her at Hogsmeade tomorrow, and get the owl to deliver the letter from there.

Now, that was one thing sorted out.

Nevertheless, it took her quite some time after she went to bed to actually fall asleep, and the fact that the dot of Draco Malfoy had been pacing up and down in his room in the dungeons on the Marauders' Map hadn't helped her in the least.

* * *

 **End Note:** JKR mentioned somewhere that Hogwarts doesn't have a tuition fee and that's why the Weasleys could send their kids, but I think there's evidence throughout the books that points to the contrary. I'd love to hear your theories.

* * *

 **AN:**

We're in the double digits of the story, are you excited? :O

I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for reading and reviewing — your love, reactions, criticisms and opinions make me a better writer. It means a lot.

* * *

I'm not really off my writing hiatus (full story on my bio), but I thought I'd post a celebratory update.

I'm participating in an HP fanfiction competition, and my entry for the previous round has been nominated by the judges, and is up for voting. I didn't really expect this because I'm participating to seek internal validation rather than external, but it feels nice. :)

So yeah, now you've got an update in return.

* * *

I'll reply to Chapter 9 reviews over the next week, and post guest review replies on the tumblr page once I retrieve my password.

See you soon! (Ooooooooh)


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